


Frighteningly Unprofessional

by thebooklord15



Series: The Unprofessional Universe [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: "Sir? It's the bat-phone.", Be Prepared for Tears, Does that make sense?, Gotham City is Terrible, HR hates this woman, It just kinda happened, Jack Ryder just wants to do the news like normal, Jon is very smart, M/M, So look out for those, Some angst, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, aight the sex part is officially being written, and also he just kinda dumps everything on batman when the going gets tough, and drugs, are you lads ready for some happy tears?, as it turns out action scenes are not my forte, basically just like celebrity personal assistance, both of these boys have traumatic pasts, bring tissues lads, but also fluff, but like they shoot people and drive get-away cars, but so does the rest of the GCPD so he ain't THAT special, but sometimes she just says some real nasty shit, but viki is his co-host, but we love him anyways, but yknow what? it works, cuz why not?, definently lots of that, ed is a smug bastard, ed knows this, everyone with a brain hates viki, except he's not from the forties and isn't an alcoholic, he has a goddamn landline, he thinks her scandals are hilarious, how do y'all write smut with a straight face?, i hope that made sense, i just liked the idea so i'm going for it, i'll put warnings in the beginning of any chapter that has triggering stuff, i'm fucking dying over here, idk why i'm writing him like that, is 'medium burn' a thing?, it should be mentioned that my harley quinn is MTF, it's not necassarily fast or slow, it's real mushy, jon has a sphinx cat, looks like chapter eleven has got some good ole' hurt/comfort, loosley follows year one scarecrow in chapter 10, lots of dark shit happening, my jim gordon is a little bit unsympathetic/amoral, no beta we die like men, not important to the plotline tbh, prepare for references to adam wests batman, prob, professor/student, query and echo have made their cameo, seriously dudes i've either been laughing or blushing like a goddamn schoolgirl trying to write this, so be prepared to hear about child abuse bullshit, so chapter ten is probably gonna be a little shorter than usual, so he never fuckin can, so naturally joker loves her, so we're going with medium lads, thats the main reason he hired them, there is def gonna be some sex at some point, there's probably gonna be a lot of murder, they are professional ass-kissers, they're gonna evolve into criminals together, think of him as a forties p.i who never wants to take the case, viki vale is real problematic, watch out for steamy office sex lads and lassies, which they kinda are, why is it easier to write characters getting murderer or tortured than writing a sex scene?!, will update tags as i write, wink wonk, yes that's how my b-man operates, yet painfully dumb, you'd better prepare 'cause here they come!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebooklord15/pseuds/thebooklord15
Summary: Jonathan knew that relationships with students were forbidden. Unethical. Unprofessional.Then again, so was the killing and experimentation of countless people, and he did that all the time.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma, Scarecrow/Riddler
Series: The Unprofessional Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821808
Comments: 59
Kudos: 54





	1. So, it's a deal?

It was the end of the work day. Usually Jonathan would feel relieved at this notion. No more lecturing, no more answering obvious questions, no more annoying outbursts from students..

But today, for the first time in years if not  _ ever _ , he actually had plans to attend to after class. Usually when the faculty of Gotham University hosted their little get-togethers at one of the nearby bars, Jonathan was either not invited or declined the offer. This time was different.

Jonathan Crane was a solitary creature, you see, and had very few friends. Actually, that was a lie. He had one friend. Singular. 

Professor Henry Pigeon. Henry was the first person in Jonathan’s life to ever acknowledge his skill, back when Jonathan was a student himself. He was the reason Jonathan was even hired at Gotham University despite his young age and early graduation. The first person to stand up for him in the face of bullies. Above all, Henry had been one of the few people to notice Jonathan’s existence in a way that was positive. That was something that he would never forget, and something that he always tried to convey his appreciation of to the older man, whenever the chance presented itself.

It was for those reasons that Jonathan was forcing himself to swallow his pride and attend Henry’s retirement party. It would be nothing less than disrespectful to refuse this invitation, and the last thing Jonathan ever wanted to do was disrespect the man who had done so much for him.

  
  


So if he was packing his papers into his briefcase a little bit slower than usual, or taking an unnecessary amount of time to tidy his desk, well..that was completely unrelated, wasn’t it? Didn’t mean he was procrastinating. No, that was a foolish thought.

He’d have to have a reason to procrastinate, and if he did have one (which, he would remind you, he certainly did  _ not _ ) it certainly would not be a strong feeling of apprehension. Nor the tightness in his chest at the thought of his coworkers judgemental glares or hushed whispers.

Of course it wasn’t. That would mean he was afraid. Jonathan Crane had stopped bending to fear’s will a long, long time ago. Fear was an unruly wild mare of the night, and he it’s powerful and forbidding master. 

Since he was so unafraid of attending this party it must have been surprise that caused him to jolt at the sudden inquiry of one of his students.

“Professor Crane? Do you have a moment?”

He almost knocked the cup of pencils off his desk. There was no laughter at his folly, but he could feel the other suppressing one. Blush coated his face all the way to his ear-tips. 

He turned to face the voice, a hasty rejection upon his lips, but faltered when he recognized who it was. 

Edward E. Nygma. Top of the class with near perfect grades. One of the few students who achieved such a feat without ever asking for help. He was arrogant about it, too, always making snide remarks to his peers about how he was already ‘lightyears ahead of them’ as he put it.

Jonathan had even suspected cheating for a brief period, so he’d taken to calling him out directly in class, attempting to catch him day-dreaming or losing focus. Each of his questions was answered in almost no time and was always perfectly correct. 

After a few weeks of this ritual Jonathan had given up. Jonathan had to admit, he had been impressed. His class was far from easy. Some of the brightest of Gotham’s University had been reduced to tears, their hopes of getting their psychology degrees crushed under the weight of Jonathan’s strict grading policy. You had to work hard in this class and not many college kids were up to the task.

That all being said, Edward hadn’t any sort of problem with his classwork, at least none that Jonathan could think of. His essay on childhood trauma had been remarkable, and he’d aced last week's quiz on Freudian methodology. What could possibly be amiss? Surely he wasn’t concerned about midterms? Those were  _ months _ away. Yet, it was the only plausible explanation Jonathan could come up with. But even  _ that  _ didn’t seem right.

_ How curious _ , Jonathan thought. He told himself that was his reason for indulging this request, instead of his own eagerness to delay the party. 

_ Henry will understand. He was a teacher himself, and lord knows how many students came to him for guidance, myself included. He might even applaud me for my dedication. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for arriving late.  _

Perfectly convenient  _ excuse _ was more like it, but he’d take what he could get.

“A brief one, I suppose. What is it you need of me?”

Edward smiled briefly, glad to be getting his way. “I’d like to have a discussion with you, a rather important one at that.”

“Oh?” Jonathan responded, waiting for him to continue. Edward’s grin slipped for a moment.

“Preferably somewhere a little.. _ quieter _ , if that’s alright with you.”

Jonathan felt his brows furrow, confused. They were the only ones left in the lecture hall, save for a few lingering students by the exit and the janitor that would be arriving soon. Surely schoolwork wasn’t scandalous enough to warrant such secrecy? Perhaps he was embarrassed to ask for help, and he was wanting to save face. He was rather egocentric in his boasting. His classmates wouldn’t let him live it down if they caught him asking questions, would they? Made sense, Jonathan supposed.

“Would my office provide enough peace for you?” He locked his briefcase and pulled it off the desk. No need to keep pretending to clean.

“Sounds perfect.”

His office was in the back of the lecture hall, nestled in the right-hand corner. Sometimes he still felt odd looking at the words _ DR. JONATHAN CRANE, PROF. OF PSYCHOLOGY  _ printed in yellow upon his door. Most of his life had been spent trying to achieve this title. It had left him feeling quite empty, up until recently, knowing that there were no other future plans for him to work towards. His latest project had been filling that void quite nicely however, so he felt nothing looking at them now. 

As he was unlocking the door, he turned his head to look back at Edward, who had been following behind him. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I haven’t had the time to tidy up lately.” This wasn’t entirely true. It probably would not take him _ terribly _ long to straighten the books onto the shelves or separate Monday’s class plans from Thursday's but he just hadn’t the motivation to do so. He was the only one that was ever back here and he never had problems finding what he needed to, so what was the point?

Edward chuckled. “I’m sure it isn’t that bad-  _ oh my goodness _ !” 

Jonathan considered the room before them and found this to be a fair reaction. His desk, in the center of the room, was almost entirely covered by books, save for a small stack of paperwork in the middle. Two oak-wood shelves were pressed together in the back of the room, each row filled with novels packed tightly together. When he’d ran out of room on the shelves Jonathan had taken to stacking books onto the floor beside them. The biggest of those three piles reached his waist. A considerable feat for a man of his height.

There was a filing cabinet to the left of the desk, though it seemed unequipped to hold the amount of paperwork it was. Creased pages stuck out of all three drawers from where Jonathan had had to force them to close. On top of the filing cabinet was, you guessed it,  _ more _ books.

Jonathan supposed an appropriate adjective for this room would be cramped.

“..You were saying?” Jonathan remarked to his flabbergasted student.

Edward swished his tongue over his lips, probably trying to word his next thought carefully. “You certainly have an..appreciation for the literary arts, don’t you?”

“Putting it lightly, yes.” Jonathan set his suitcase beside his desk, moving to sit in the office chair behind it. It was creaky and uncomfortable. 

“You can have a seat on the couch over there, if you like. Or stand if you prefer.” He gestured to the aforementioned piece of furniture, a small, cheap, sofa the color of dirt. It just barely avoided being hit by the tiny office’s door. Unsurprisingly there was a stack of medical magazines on one of the two cushions. 

Edward closed the door behind him delicately, as if he were afraid that slamming it too hard would cause an earthquake that would lead to him and his professor being buried alive in a mountain of books. Even more delicately did he sit on the unoccupied cushion of the sofa.

The younger man folded his hands neatly into his lap before speaking.

“I know what you’ve been doing after school, Professor Crane.”

Jonathan felt his heart stutter. Surely he couldn’t mean?-  _ No _ . That was impossible. Nobody knew about that. Not even the _ police  _ knew about that!

“I..beg your pardon, young man?” 

“Fear toxin. Those homeless people you’ve been testing it out on? I know about it. I know that it was you.”

Jonathan’s hands balled into fists. The books on his desk shielded this from the other. His heart-rate had surely doubled by now. One thought plagued his mind repeating it’s frustrating inquiry over and over again:  _ How?! How?!! How did he know? _

Fear, that wild mare, had bucked him out of his saddle and crushed his rib cage under its hooves.

All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, the silence enough to make Jonathan go mad. Yet Edward, the pretentious bastard he was, just sat there regarding him calmly. As if they were discussing the weather or last week's football game.

He would have to kill him now. There was no other way out. He hadn’t wanted to bring his.. _extracurricular activities_ onto the university’s campus, but it seemed unavoidable now.

But Edward was of genius level intellect. Surely he realized the way in which he’d forced Jonathan’s hand? It was impossible for him to miss that. So how could he just sit there unbothered and look at him like he awaited a response?

Because he knew something Jonathan didn’t.

Suddenly his actions made perfect sense. Saying he needed to have an  _ ‘important discussion’  _ with him, wanting to move things to a more private location..

He was trying to _ extort  _ him.

And that realization made him furious. A pompous, arrogant, greedy little  _ brat _ thought that he had outwitted him. Probably trying to force him to move all his grades up to perfect scores. Edward could hide behind that overinflated ego all he wanted but deep down he was probably just a scared, attention starved little boy that needed the world’s approval.

If he were a lesser man he would have given into that rage-driven, primal instinct to lunge over the top of his desk and rip Edward’s throat out with his teeth.

Instead he forced his fists to un-clench, took a deep,  _ deep  _ breath through his nose, and fixed the man across him with what he felt was a dark, heated glare.

With a soft yet deadly tone he said, “If you think you can force me to do your bidding then you know not who you speak to, boy. You say you know of my recent endeavors, my experiments on those who would not be missed, but that is only a  _ fraction _ of what I am capable of. The only reason those men and women were found at all was because I wanted them to be. Dozens more have fallen by my hand and never been recovered. Do you comprehend just how easy it would be for me to make you disappear,  _ Edward _ ?”

He had embellished a bit, he had to concede. Only twelve other failed experiments remained unnoticed as of yet. 

Although Edward didn’t seem to be greatly affected by this blatant threat, to Jonathan’s chagrin, he did seem to pause for a moment of what appeared to be consideration.

“I suppose it  _ does _ look like I mean to blackmail you, doesn’t it Professor?”

It was Jonathan’s turn to pause. If he wasn’t going to coerce him into anything, then what was the point in letting him know that he knew at all?

“It was foolish to tell me you’d discovered my secret if you’ve no leverage over me. I have half a mind to kill you for being that ignorant.”

“You could. But then you wouldn’t hear what I have to offer you.”

This conversation just kept twisting and turning further down the rabbit hole didn’t it?

“You mean to bargain with me.” Jonathan spoke his question as a statement.

Edward nodded. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering what led me to confronting you about this..hobby of yours?”

Jonathan had been wondering about that, and said so.

Edward unfolded his hands and pressed them together, palm to palm, gesticulating with them as he spoke. “You see, I’m something of a..businessman. I deal in all sorts of things. Information, stolen goods,weaponry.. _ narcotics _ .” He trailed off, giving his professor a knowing smile.

Jonathan was starting to see where this was going.

“You want to be my drug dealer?  _ That’s  _ what this whole ordeal was about?”

Edward scoffed, as if deeply offended by this idea. “As if I’m some sort of petty thug! No, what I’m suggesting, sir, is that you and I embark into partnership of sorts. I supply you with the necessary chemicals for your experiments and you return the favor when I deem necessary.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “Favors, you say.”

“Indeed.” Edward returned his hands to their original position, folded neatly into his lap.

“What _ kind _ of favors are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing that would inconvenience you terribly. A few guest appearances from you and your toxin to help with my more..stubborn clientele, or perhaps some assistance in making a few people  _ ‘disappear’  _ as you put it earlier.”

“And the chemicals you mentioned. Where exactly would you be getting them from?” Jonathan’s current supply was funded by the university labs. It was not the easiest way to continue his research, stealing a few of the necessary elements at a time so nobody would catch on. But it was surely better than what Edward was to offer, which was undoubtedly some diluted product he would buy from another dealer.

“ACE.” Jonathan must have looked about as surprised as he felt because Edward chuckled. “Like I said. I’m a businessman. And when you’re in my line of work, you have connections such as this that often come in handy.”

As much as he loathed to admit it, this sounded infinitely better than his current source. For a moment he considered that Edward might have been bluffing but dismissed the thought almost immediately. By the sound of things Edward had been planning this discussion for quite some time, which meant he’d known about his project for quite some, and he wouldn’t have even made an offer until he was sure he could make good on his word.

He was really about to agree to this, wasn’t he?

He sighed. Edward must have sensed that he was about to cave, for he offered one of his hands to him. “Deal?” 

Jonathan stared at the outstretched appendage for a moment. Then he sighed again. He was _ really _ doing this. “Deal,” he said, grasping it.

Edward’s smile seemed more genuine this time. “You won’t regret this sir, I assure you.”

Jonathan offered his own grin in return. “I should hope not. Because if I do, I won’t hesitate to ensure that you do more so than I.”

  
  



	2. Sphinx cats give decent relationship advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan is an introvert in denial and his cat calls him out on his bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some cigarettes and mentions of experimentation of people against their will. If either of those things make you uncomfortable I would suggest skipping this!

_ Exhausting _ . That was the word that best described Jonathan’s experience at Henry’s party.

He was first greeted by the pungent stench of alcohol and second by a group of university professors, who were surprised at his arrival.

A few gave him polite nods in greeting, which he returned. He was about to walk past them, find some corner to wait in until Henry found him, when he was interrupted.

“Er, Professor Crane! What a..lovely surprise it is to see you!” An older woman remarked. Jonathan thought she taught economics. 

He felt a twinge of bitterness at her words. This sort of faux politeness was something he had experienced far too often in his time down south. If she didn’t like him then she should just  _ avoid _ him, simple as that. But  _ ohh no _ , she doesn’t want to be seen as rude or impolite in front of her friends, now  _ does _ she? She just has to imprison the both of them in this pointless, uncomfortable verbal exchange, just so she can pat herself on the back for being nice to the  _ freak _ .

Normally he wouldn’t even dignify such encounters with a response. However, his exchange with Edward had left his pride bruised. And _ this _ lady had poked that wound much harder then she should have. So he decided to make her feel just as uncomfortable as she’s made him.

He hopped onto the barstool beside hers. She went bug-eyed, glancing at her friends beside her with a look that said  _ ‘Are you seeing this?’. _

After sharing their own knowing glance, the two beside her took pointed sips of their beverages.  _ ‘We’re seeing it, but it ain’t our problem.’ _ their faces read.

“Did Henry not mention that he invited me?” Jonathan asked, trying to sound less jaded and more curious.

“Oh no, he certainly did! It’s just that, in the past when  _ we’ve _ extended an invitation to you, you’ve always turned us down.”

Jonathan made a show of widening his eyes and raising his brows so that he looked surprised and just a touch offended.“It almost sounds as if you’d prefer it if I  _ hadn’t _ shown up,” he said, forcing his tone to sound hurt.

“Erm..” the woman faltered, casting another look to her friends. They didn’t see this silent plea, having abandoned her for the pool table. She gazed woefully at their turned backs, which were alight with color from the neon signs decorating the walls. Jonathan followed this line of sight and smirked. If only he’d brought some of his toxin along with him! It would be an interesting study case, he thought, dosing one victim and forcing a few others to watch. He’d have to try that out later.

The woman returned her gaze to Jonathan and he schooled his features back into false offense.

“I-I suppose what I was trying to say is that I’d just  _ assumed _ you wouldn’t be attending this time as well. Not-not that you  _ aren’t _ welcome to our parties! Of course you are, and you always  _ will _ be, I just didn’t think these sort of things interested you is all!”

Jonathan let a few more moments of silence pass, the woman next to him growing visibly nervous with each one. Finally he allowed himself to smirk.

“I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding, Misses..?”

“Er, Reeves. Dora Reeves.” She seemed to relax just a fraction.

“Misses Reeves.” He filed the name away for later. “Right then. As I was saying, I apologize for the false accusation. I am aware that my presence can be a bit.. _ intense _ for lack of a better word, and that most people aren’t comfortable with it.”

She nodded eagerly, seeing a chance to escape this confrontation. 

“No, no you’re perfectly fine Dr. Crane, perfectly fine! And I don’t mean to cut this, uhm,  _ lovely chat  _ short but, Professor Brennings has been calling me over to the pool table for a little while now, so if you’ll excuse me..” This was a blatant lie. Her two friends had seemed to forget that they had even left her, the only noise they’d been making had been cries of excitement at their pool game. 

With that, she quickly gathered her purse from the chair, all while giving him one of those painfully fake trying-to-be-polite smiles. He returned it just to be spiteful.

The rest of the party was much more bearable. Henry found him not long after his encounter with Dora. When Jonathan mentioned it to him, the old man had bellowed with laughter, giving one of his knees a hearty slap.

When he had finished, he used one hand to wipe a stay tear from his face, and clapped the other on Jonathan’s bony shoulder.

“Good on you son! It’s about time someone put that old  _ bitch _ in her place!” 

Unlike his encounter with Dora Reeves, the conversation between the two men flowed generously, rich with wit and intellectual banter. Although Jonathan had enjoyed spending time with his friend, he was still drained from the encounter, as usual. He could only take so much social interaction in one day.

For these reasons, Jonathan had elected to wait a few days before reaching out to Edward.

_ “Give me a call whenever you need more supplies.”  _ he’d said, and handed him a folded note. Inside had been Edward’s phone number, neatly printed in green ink.

Jonathan held that note in his hand now, the other occupied with a cigarette. He took a deep drag from it. Sighed. Flopped his head back onto the couch.

It felt  _ way _ too early in the morning for him to even think about talking to anybody, but at the same time he _ had _ to do it now. Edward was a businessman, as he’d put it, and was apt to be carrying out other illicit schemes in his free time. He  _ needed _ a guarantee for these supplies, so he had to make sure he was first in line.

The latest batch of toxin had used up the last of his chemicals. While he had debated donning a disguise so he could run some tests on the formula, he ultimately decided against it. He always preferred to have leftover ingredients when he ran experiments, just in case he needed to tweak the toxin a bit. 

He took a final drag from his cigarette. Smoke drifted from his open mouth, desperately grasping for his living room ceiling. It failed and dissipated before it was even halfway there.

An ashtray, filled with the soot of it’s brethren, awaited this new addition from Jonathan’s coffee table. Empty once more Jonathan was able to run his fingers through his hair. He should  _ really  _ brush it, he mused, but he’d have time to worry about that later. Right now he needed to stop stalling and make the call.

Didn’t mean he had to  _ like  _ it though.

Begrudgingly he picked up his phone, squinting his un-bespeckled eyes at the blurry numbers, and dialled the number. 

It rang once, twice, three times, and then: 

_ “Professor Crane! I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever call.”  _

That threw him off a bit. Had he already given Edward his number? He didn’t remember doing so, but chose to let it slide for the moment.

“It’s only been a week since our deal.”

There was a scoff on the other end.  _ “One very  _ quiet  _ week.You could have at least given me a courtesy call, just to let me know that I gave you the correct number. Or approached me after class.” _

Did he have multiple phones or was he just worried he’d written down the incorrect digits?

“Well you obviously have, seeing that we’re talking right now. I’m sure you can guess at why that is.”

_ “I’ve got a few theories,” _ Edward wryly remarked.  _ “What do you need?” _

Jonathan recited a long list of chemicals. A pencil could be heard on the other end, transcribing his words. 

When that was done, Edward said,  _ “You know of Axel Row, yes? It’s not terribly far from your street. The Greyhound buses run a route along the two.” _

Okay, Jonathan could’ve chalked up the phone number situation to faulty memory, but he  _ certainly _ would’ve remembered giving Edward his address.

“How do you know where I live?”

_ “Information is part of my business, Professor Crane. I know a great deal of things. What I would  _ like  _ to know is if you’re available to meet me at the previously mentioned location sometime today.” _

Jonathan narrowed his eyes in suspicion before remembering Edward couldn’t see that. “Suppose I say yes. What would that entail?”

_ “I said you would repay my services with favors, yes? While reading about your experiments in the papers is intriguing enough, I’d much prefer to see it in person. You do have some toxin in reserves, don’t you?” _

Was he being stalked? “I do indeed.”

A light snort.  _ “Figures. You seem like the type.” _

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

_ “Are you or are you not available for a meeting today?” _ Edward asked, ignoring Jonathan’s comment altogether.

Jonathan sighed. “I am.”

_ “Splendid! I’ll see you within the hour.” _ Click.

Jonathan gave his phone an irritated look. Scoffing, he returned it to its place beside the ashtray. He suspected such rudeness to be typical of Edward. 

There wasn’t much time to dwell on this, however. Jonathan doubted his partner would appreciate him showing up in nothing more than his boxers.

Considering his destination though, he wouldn’t have to put that much effort into disguising himself. Usually he replaced his glasses with contacts, slathered his hair with gel, and put on an outfit that was somewhat formal, but not unapproachable. Then he would take the bus into the city, always making sure he was far from his home, and search through the crowds for unnoticed souls.

Homeless people are not known for being overly trusting, but most don’t look at the willowy, sensibly dressed white-boy and assume ill intent. The majority of those men donate money or food to them and they make the mistake of assuming Jonathan will do the same.

Their misjudgement had cost them their lives. A necessary sacrifice, in Jonathan’s eyes. Couldn’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, now could he?

In regards to Axel Row, however, dressing up would get him nowhere. The people in that area of the city were used to nicely-dressed men being their enemies.

Some twenty years ago, Stagg Enterprises had bought out all three automobile factories in the area. The majority of Axel Row’s population were employees of those companies, so when the penny-pinching CEO had slashed their paychecks, the whole neighborhood, and then some, was greatly affected. Those that could quit and moved away. The rest were forced to grit their teeth and deal with it, being too poor to leave or too inexperienced to find another job. Four years passed. Houses were torn down. Families were evicted. Shops closed, never re-opening. Seemingly overnight this suburban paradise had transformed into a shadow of Crime Alley.

And then Stagg Enterprises went bankrupt and things became _ significantly  _ worse.

Unemployment and crime rates exploded. Even more people moved away or lost their homes. Those that did stay were hardly society’s most upstanding citizens. Addicts, rapists, dealers, murderers- _ those _ were the new norm of the once respectable neighborhood.

So, back to his original point; the nine-to-five suit and tie number wouldn’t cut it. 

Jonathan looked around his living room floor. That was where most of his clothes ended up, despite him having a perfectly usable closet. Again, he recognized it wouldn’t take that much effort to tidy up yet saw no point to this. There was only one other living thing in this house, and that was his cat, a sphinx named Lenore. She probably wouldn’t appreciate a change in their messy dynamic. Sleeping in his clothes was one of her favorite pastimes.

In fact, it was within one the piles surrounding the sofa that she resided now. Lenore must have felt his gaze, for she raised her head to look at him. Her green eyes were narrowed, as if to say, _ ‘Don’t even think about taking this, old man.’ _

“I won’t use the shirt you’re laying on, Lenore, don’t worry. There’s plenty of other dirty clothes in this house,” he replied, rising from the couch. 

Lenore tucked her head back onto her paws, closing her eyes. Her ebony skin almost blended in with the fabric beneath her. _ ‘Good. You would’ve lost an eye trying.’ _

“I don’t doubt that one bit,” he chuckled. Squatting down he rifled through the rest of his options. Too fancy, that one had a hole in it, a stain on the other-aha! A somewhat clean turtleneck. He pulled it over his head. 

“Black looks better on you than me,” Jonathan told Lenore, searching for some pants, “but that doesn’t really matter. This outfit is supposed to help me blend in, not impress anyone.”

Lenore’s ear twitched.  _ ‘Keep telling yourself that.’ _

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” He held up a pair of khakis for inspection. Gave them a curious sniff. Cringing away from the odor, he tossed them back.

Lenore’s eyes opened. They almost looked inquisitive.  _ ‘We both know that you're starved for intellectual conversation, and we both know that Edward could provide that, even if it was just for his own gain. Admit it; you want him to like you, at least a _ little _ bit.’  _

He scoffed. “Look Lenore, I don’t know  _ where  _ you’ve gotten this silly idea from, but you can go ahead and put it back where you found it. I already have a friend; _ Henry _ . And he has been more than willing to fill that void. Edward is my business partner, nothing more.”

The cat closed her eyes again, serenely lapping at her paw.  _ ‘Henry isn’t bad, no, but he can’t give you what you really want. Not this time. Because if  _ Henry  _ knew about this little side-project of yours, he’d go straight to the police. Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars. But you know what Edward did when he found out? He asked you to work with him. He respects your passion, doc, and that’s something you’ve always wanted, even if you didn’t know it.’ _

A pair of torn jeans slid onto Jonathan’s long legs. “I’m  _ not _ trying to impress anyone.” Jonathan repeated. Who was he trying to convince, Lenore or himself? 

Whatever- that question wasn’t important, so he banished it entirely. He hunted around for some socks and shoes. The socks didn’t match and there was a scuff mark on one of the sneakers. He was unbothered by this, as he said before, this was just a disguise. These details were insignificant.

He carefully lowered the container of fear toxin into his duffel bag. It’s plastic, not glass, but he fears it breaking all the same. He did one last survey of the house- Lenore had food and water, her litter box was clean (for now) and his keys and phone were in his pocket. He put his contacts in, nearly forgetting to. Everything appeared to be in order. 

Just before he stepped outside his door, he paused, spraying on a small amount of  _ Old Spice _ . Lenore gave him a knowing look.

He glared back at her. “It’s for the disguise, not for  _ him _ .”

_ ‘Sure it is doc. Sure.’ _

Jonathan shut the door and locked it behind him. Popped another marlboro into his mouth. 

“Damn cat,” he mumbled around it.


	3. Totally Professional Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the boys have their first official meeting. It goes about the way you'd expect it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Mentions of underage sex, prostitution, drugs, murder, rape, kidnapping, child abuse, and disrespecting the dead. If you are sensitive to any of this, I suggest skipping.

Edward must not have understood the concept of going unnoticed.

As Jonathan exited the bus, he’d been going back and forth on whether to call him again, so they could specify a place to find one another. The moment he hit the pavement he realized he wouldn’t have to worry about this-Jonathan wagered that Edward had deafened a few astronauts with just how _loud_ his outfit was.

Leaning casually against the bus stop, was what Jonathan at first thought to be an escaped Sears catalogue model. Edward’s auburn hair was gelled to coiffed perfection, and his skin looked so flawless and smooth against his black-framed glasses. Stand Edward next to a mannequin and Jonathan might not be able to tell the difference.

Upon further inspection this comparison started to become flawed. Mannequins didn’t show skin through their pale blue jeans, or fill out a plain white t-shirt so well. Nor did they casually adjust the sleeves of their forest green jackets, or frown and straighten their watches until they were just so. No, it was the real Edward alright, and Jonathan wasn’t the only one taking notice. A group of drifters, huddled into a circle and sharing a joint, were giving this well dressed interloper suspicious glares, whispering to one another and trying to subtly point at him.

Jonathan felt his lips twitch into a frown. Christ, not even two minutes into this mission and their cover was nearly blown. They’d better get moving, before others were cautioned of two suspicious characters in the neighborhood.

He strode quickly over to his student, grabbing him by one arm, and marching away from the crowd. Edward yelped in surprise, at first trying to pull away, but succumbing to the other’s determined pace once he realized who it was. 

The drifters snickered and turned their gaze away. To them, the explanation was simple; a pompous rich kid hangs out in the wrong part of town, and things don’t end so well for him. Happened every day. No skin off their noses.

  
  


“Well _hello_ to you too, Dr. Crane.” Edward joked, an uneasy smirk on his face. 

“What in the hell were you thinking, showing up looking like this?!” He hissed back. They walked past a pair of scantily clad women, who also looked at them warily. Jonathan only walked faster, eyes darting around for an unoccupied alleyway or corner. Only boarded up shops and busted glass so far.

“What-what’s wrong with my outfit? The saleswoman said brunswick green complimented my eyes _perfectly_ !” Edward said, frowning down at himself. He nearly tripped into a puddle, Jonathan was going so fast. “And could you slow down a bit? I’m not six feet of _legs_ like you are. Where are we going in such a rush anyways? Have the bums we passed not been good enough test subjects?”

Finally, between a run-down apartment complex and a flipped over hot-dog stand, an empty alleyway presented itself. Jonathan steered them both into it. Edward made a show of looking disgusted by their filthy surroundings.

Dropping Edward’s arm and his duffel bag, he finally looked the other in the eye. The saleswoman had been right; brunswick green _did_ suit his eye color quite nicely.

“We are in _Axel Row_ , Edward. An area that is not a far cry from Crime Alley. Street thugs and homeless people live here. And you thought that showing up looking like a _male magazine model_ would help you blend in with that sort of crowd?!”

Edward continued to frown, giving his person a critical look. Then after a moment he looked back to Jonathan, seeming a little surprised if not pleased. “Male model, you say?”

Jonathan was silent for a moment, completely incredulous. How self centered could he have been to focus on that fact alone?

“ _Yes_ Edward. I’m sure that if this were a beauty contest you’d take home first prize.” Jonathan sarcastically remarked. The snide-ness of this comment seemed to be lost on him completely. His displeased look disappeared completely in favor of a more smug, cat-who-ate-the-canary one.

“But because this is, in fact, _not_ a pageant we’re going to have to fix that.”

_That_ wiped the smirk off his arrogant face. “What do you mean fix- _hey_!” Edward cut himself off to defend from Jonathan’s hands, which were ruining his styled locks. Jonathan ignored the half-hearted attacks and continued to mussy Edward's hair. When he was done his palms were sticky and his partner looked like he’d been caught in a tornado.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, looking the younger man up and down. Edward squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. The professor tapped a finger against his chin, thinking up ways to help tone down Edward’s outfit. After a few beats he said, “Take off the watch and roll up your sleeves.”

Huffing, the other complied. “Spent almost an _hour_ dolling myself up and _this_ is what I get? Ungrateful old _bastard_ ,” Edward grumbled.

Jonathan was unfazed by this confession. Edward Nygma was a complete and total narcissist, he was learning. If anything it was strange that it had only taken one hour. He seemed the type to spend eons preening over himself in the mirror.

“Satisfied?” Edward sneered. The cuffs of his jacket were bunched around his elbows. Circular indentations littered Edward’s exposed arms. Interesting. Someone had made a habit of putting cigarettes out on him, and he doubted it was Edward. Jonathan made note of this information for later use. 

Noticing his stare, Edward crossed his arms over his chest. That brought Jonathan back to the present. “One more thing,” he said.

He closed the distance between them. Edward flushed, probably embarrassed by the close proximity. Couldn’t blame him; Jonathan was an intimidating man, not to mention his professor. Many students before him had reddened under his critical eye and he doubted Edward would be the last.

He grabbed Edward’s t-shirt in both fists and twisted and turned it, wrinkling the fabric.

He took a step back. Disappointment flashed in Edward’s eyes, to Jonathan’s confusion, but it was gone before he could question it.

Jonathan gave him one final look-over. Hair that looked like a birds nest, arms dappled with scars, sloppily crinkled shirt..a passerby would probably assume that Edward was either on drugs or selling them. As long as they didn’t come up and ask which one it was, Jonathan assumed they were in the clear.

“This will do, I suppose.” He slung his duffel bag back over his shoulder. Water dripped from the bottom. Must have set it in a puddle.

“I should hope so. Any more damage to this outfit would be considered assault! Do you know how long it’s going to take to redo my hair?” Edward pouted-yes he _actually_ pouted. It infuriated Jonathan to no end. First he jeopardizes this whole meeting with his wardrobe malfunction, despite being the one who _picked_ this location in the first place, and then he had the gall to whine about his fucking _hair_? 

So Jonathan did what he always did to brats of this caliber: fixed him with his sternest, disappointed teacher expression, and chewed him a new one. 

“No I don’t, nor do I care to. We are here for a purpose, Edward, and I wish to fulfill that. So you can either stop this incessant _whining_ ,” he jabbed a finger at him, “and observe _quietly_ or forget this whole ordeal and go _home_.” 

Edward was stunned into silence. He opened his mouth, once, twice, then kept it shut. Losing his patience with his student Jonathan huffed and pushed passed him. In a final, petty act, he sloshed his sneaker through the dirty puddle he’d set his bag in. Murky brown water splashed all over Edward’s perfect white shoes. The younger boy gasped, shooting a murderous glare at his professor. 

Jonathan turned to him from the edge of the alleyway. 

“ _Now_ I’m satisfied.”

He left a furious, gaping Edward in his wake. Jonathan could care less. 

Chemicals from ACE and partnership be damned- if they couldn’t work on something as simple as this together, then there was no way in hell that this pact would survive. What he had been thinking, agreeing to this in the first place? Jonathan had been faring well enough by himself for the last thirty-one years now. He didn’t _need_ Edward, or anybody else for that matter-

“Wait!” 

Jonathan halted. He’d made it about two yards down the sidewalk.

Edward caught up to him. He seemed abashed, quite a feat considering his ego. Once again he opened his mouth, once, twice, before closing his lips into a thin line. His green eyes refused to meet Jonathan’s blue ones.

“I realize I may have been a bit..” Edward trailed off.

“Egocentric? Self-absorbed?” Jonathan offered.

“Inconsiderate.” Edward corrected, giving him a slight glare. When he was met with nothing but a neutral expression it softened. 

“I would like to express regret for these actions.” The apology sounded stiff, spoken tentatively. As if the words were glass that might cut into his mouth, should he speak them the wrong way. Sheepishly, he added, “And still participate in the plan. If that’s alright with you, partner.”

There was a question hidden within this last statement. Were they partners still, or had Edward’s blunder frightened him off entirely?

Jonathan considered this for a moment. Like he’d been thinking earlier, he didn’t exactly need any sort of associate. He worked just fine by himself.

_But you want it,_ a voice- _Lenore’s_ voice- insisted. _Look at how eager he is to see your life’s work. To bear witness to fear’s power. He’s a complete narcissist, and a total whiny brat, but he’s a genius. He could understand the mission, doc. More importantly he_ wants _to get it, and volunteered this meeting just so he could. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted your whole life, doc? For someone to get you, completely?_

For a moment he wanted to protest. There was no reason to take this risk. He had someone who did that already. Henry was his friend, who’d done so much for him because recognized his potential, he cared and because he _understood_ -

Except he didn’t. Henry didn’t understand him. Not really. Henry would never understand his need to pick and pull apart the minds of his test subjects, his adoration and obsession of fear, the sheer beauty that was his toxin. Henry wouldn’t see it as breaking a few eggs for the omlet. He’d see it as maceration.

It was just as Lenore said; if he ever found out, it was straight to the police. 

Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

Now that he really thought about it, Henry didn't know him at all, did he? Not for who he really was.

_But Edward can,_ Lenore continued. _All you have to do is say yes._

“I’d be glad to have you. Partner.”

\---

Zoe had watched in equal parts curiosity and suspicion as a well-dressed man, who was probably just turning twenty, was roughly led by another man, this one impossibly tall and gaunt looking. Tense words were exchanged between the two but she wasn’t close enough to make them out. It made her shift a little closer to the wall, all the more aware of her revealing clothing. 

“Did we just watch a kidnapping, or a potential rape victim being led to his doom?” The woman beside her asked. Gloria was her name and she seemed equally unnerved despite the attempt at humor. 

“It might be both, honestly. I’d rather forget about it. That sorta stuff just twists my gut, y’know?” It might have been a little cold to brush off what was most definitely the death or suffering of another person, but it was a necessary thing for a woman of her stature, Zoe felt. Didn’t matter how much she wanted to track down the nearest pay-phone and report any crime she saw- at the end of the day, she was still Zoe Hayden, seventeen year old runaway prostitute. She doubted her face was on the back of any milk cartons, but avoiding the cops felt like a good idea. Laying low never hurt anyone, now did it?

“You should try to remember the bigger guy's face, though. Just in case he comes back. Help ya remember to run,” Gloria said. Zoe nodded, taking the older woman’s advice to heart. Gloria had been working the streets a lot longer than she had, and she heeded her word like it was gospel. They’d only known each other for a few short months but already were close. ‘Sister’s from different misters’ she had once remarked to Gloria. She had laughed adding that they must have indeed been _very_ different misters. 

The two looked absolutely nothing alike. Zoe’s skin was pale, almost vampire like. Gloria’s skin was a rich mocha color, marked with laugh lines. Zoe’s hair was stringy and red. Gloria’s was jet black and braided neatly. 

Despite the differences, the two considered themselves to be family. Axel Row was not a place that one found many lasting relationships and any that were built were guarded fiercely. So the pair stuck together when they could. Waited on clients together, shared their small one-bedroom apartment in the nights, and walked each other through the more dodgy parts of the neighborhood, when circumstance allowed it.

As it was today was not one of the days that did; Gloria was waiting for a cab, pre-paid by whatever man had requested her services. Zoe had elected to stay with her until it arrived, on the off chance that she was spotted and asked to join. Performing sexual acts on strangers was still a very foreign, very _scary_ experience for her, and having someone that she trusted by her side made it a bit more bearable.

Her hopes were dashed when the car arrived with only the driver. Before she left, Gloria squeezed one of the smaller girls shoulders with one hand. Her fake nails matched the color of her dress.

“I should be back before noon, but don’t count on it. Meet you at the bus stop?”

Zoe nodded. “Be careful Gloria,” she said, suddenly feeling as if this were an important thing to say. It was a gut feeling so she went with it.

Gloria smiled. “Could see the same thing to you sister.” She must have seen the serious glint in the other's eyes for she added, “But I will. Always am.”

She climbed into the cab. Zoe gave her friend a final wave. Watched the yellow car inch down the pavement. It took a right at the end of the street, and then it was gone. 

Zoe never saw Gloria again, nor did she see the two men watching her from afar.

\---

“She certainly had a set of lungs on her, didn’t she professor?” Edward remarked, referring to the now deceased Zoe Hayden. Her name was unknown to them, but that hardly mattered to the pair. 

What was important had already been jotted down into Jonathan’s notepad: 

_Rapid eye dilation, dramatic increase of breath. Two mins in before tears, & four until screams. Patient was incoherent by the fifth, crying out phrases such as ‘No more please stop’, ‘It hurts please stop’, and ‘Gloria help.’ Gloria is likely the name of her mother or some other relative. Possibly patients only close social bond seeing as no other name was called. Patient also backed away from anyone who approached, keeping legs shut tightly. Response to physical stimuli was negative, met with shrieks and more pleas. Deceased in under ten minutes. _

_Conclusion; genophobia and ammidyphobia. Toxin longevity could be improved upon._

“That she did.” Jonathan responded, finishing his sentence. He tucked the notepad back into his duffel back, pen with it. 

“She also had quite a severe case of genophobia, but seeing her state of dress I can already speculate as to why. Quite common with prostitutes this young.”

Edward hummed in agreement. “So are we to leave her on the ground, so some poor bastard stumbles upon her?” Edward asked, nudging the corpse with his foot. Zoe’s wide unblinking eyes gaped up at him. Tears pushed at the edges, never to be spilled.

Jonathan considered this idea. They were back in the alley they’d argued in, the head of their victim resting in a puddle of filthy water. On either side of them was an empty building and a run-down apartment complex. Chances of someone finding her weren’t impossibly low, but he’d like them to be higher.

“We could, but it’d be nicer to have a place where someone finding her is guaranteed. Not many pass through here, I imagine.”

“Not _this_ part of the alleyway, no. There’s an apartment building to our left, you see, and buildings like those tend to have shared dumpsters for residents. Way to save money, I wager. There wasn’t one on the other side, and I don’t see one one the roof..” He let the sentence hang in the air, giving his partner a mischievous smirk. 

Jonathan understood immediately, and returned it.

He took the corpse’s left arm, Edward it’s right. 

“Y’know Edward,” Jonathan said, as they dragged Zoe Hayden’s body to the back of the alleyway, “I’m beginning to think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” 

Edward smiled in earnest now. “I couldn’t agree more, Professor Crane.”

“You can call me Jonathan, you know. Outside of class, I mean.” He said, opening the dumpster’s lid. Smells of shit and decay wafted out from it. They both cringed away from the offensive odor.

“Jonathan it is then.” Edward replied, hoisting up his side of the body. He wiped his hands on his pants afterwords. "I am _definitely_ bringing hand sanitizer next time."

And so, Zoe Hayden was disposed of among the trash bags and vermin within the dumpster. Upon discovering the body, the police officers barely batted an eye. It was Axel Row, after all. Shit like this happened every day here.

No skin off their noses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird words that were featured;
> 
> Genophobia- the physical/psychological fear of sexual intercourse.
> 
> Ammidyphobia- extreme fear of being left by someone you love.
> 
> Maceration- official definition is "soften or become softened by soaking in a liquid", but the specific practice I was referencing actually has to do with the egg industry. I wanted to find a word/phrase that would suit the idiom 'Breaking a few eggs to make an omelet' which led me down a strange rabbit hole of vegan anti-egg articles. One of these pieces referenced maceration to be the practice of killing off any male chicks that hatched via meat grinder- a horrifying image if I've ever seen one, but also a phrase I thought fit this story very well. So there's your fun fact for the day, I suppose.
> 
> Extra note: I found this info on google, I am in no ways an expert on any of this stuff, so if any of this isn't entirely correct, then I apologize.


	4. He wears glasses, but he's still blind to feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jonathan, so smart yet so dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: cigarette usage, light slut-shaming, referenced trans-phobia (past). Surprisingly light, compared to last time.

Many considered silence to be an unbearable thing. Something that smothered like a pillow over the face, or something that one tried to fill as they would a grave. 

To Jonathan, and most other teachers, he was sure, it was a very precious, very hard to obtain object. An ancient artifact that must be held and observed carefully, one blunder enough to destroy it forever.

Jonathan had no intentions of breaking it now, nor did he intend for any of his students to.

Grading papers at his desk, he was, nursing the remnants of his coffee. Straight black. No sugar, no milk. Just the way he liked it. 

As for his class, they had been assigned a short essay which was due by the end of this class period. A mere forty-five minutes from then. The only sounds from them were the faint scratch-scratches of graphite on paper, or quiet click-clacking of keys on a laptop, depending on which format they had chosen.  _ Also _ , just the way he liked it. 

Then from the back, a soft yet distinct  _ hmph _ .

His own writing tool, the red pen, stopped half-way through it’s marking of a fifty-eight on Bridget Roberts paper. He didn’t need to glance up to identify who it was. Edward did this every time he finished early. And it wouldn’t end at that either, oh no. His little scoff is just the beginning. Then he’ll unclasp his satchel, always in a way that is both quiet  _ and _ noisy, and retrieve a novel from within. After that he’ll shut his bag once again, in the quietly noisy fashion, and begin his reading. Or the pretense of it, anyway. 

What he  _ really  _ does after that is survey the room. Not in the way one might do out of boredom. Edward’s eyes are critical and impatient throughout their search, flicking over the people around them dismissively. Finally, it happened. Two rows down from him a boy shut his laptop with a satisfied sigh. If Jonathan were to check his own laptop, he would see the notification from google classroom that his essay had been submitted.

Edward  _ hmmphed _ again, more pointedly this time. The other boy looked toward the sound, as did Jonathan. The professor knows what’s coming, this happens _ everyday _ , but finds himself watching anyway.

Edward lifted his book, so his peer could see it, giving it a little wave. All while wearing the most smug cat-who-got-the-cream look known to man.  _ ‘You might have gotten done early, but _ I _ was still quicker’ _ this expression says. The other student frowned, turning away quickly. Edward just grinned all the wider, beginning to actually read his book now.

Jonathan has caught him in this act several times before. Each time Edward recognizes this, flashes him a smile, and continues his game.

This dramatic display of ego should not be nearly as endearing as it was. Yet Jonathan found himself forcing his hand to resume it’s writing, trying his damnedest not to smile.

He should be at least a little upset with his friend for breaking the silence- even if it _ was _ briefly. Knew that if it were anyone else in the room that he would be. Yet, as he was starting to notice in the months following their first meeting, Edward was an exception. 

For example, the mug of coffee in his hand. Nobody but Edward had ever thought to bring him one before, yet everyday, five minutes before class started Edward did just that. (“There’s no sugar-coating  _ anything _ with you, is there professor?” he’d remarked, after learning how Jonathan took his coffee.) Or his office. Edward didn’t visit that quite often but enough that Jonathan had finally tidied it up a bit. Well. Maybe tidy wasn’t the right word here- the stacks of books had been straightened out some, and pages no longer stuck out of the filing cabinet, but it was still a jungle of books. He’d even started wearing cologne on a regular basis, something that he had never in his life done before. Because no one had captured his attention in such a way before.

He could hardly be blamed for this though. Edward was just one of those people that you  _ had _ to notice, once you lay eyes on them. Like an optical illusion. At first glance he’d just been another face in the sea of students, smart enough to acknowledge sure, but nothing more than that. But upon further inspection another more striking image began to form. Smart no longer fit Edward’s description. It was just too plain a word. Edward was genius, brilliance, quick-witted. He held conversation with the sophistication of someone much older than he, commanded the presence of every room he entered. 

And this wasn’t even  _ mentioning _ physical attributes. Eyes that put emeralds to shame, auburn hair that blazed like fire in the right lighting, soft lips that formed mischievous smirks and grins-

He shook his head, trying to clear this train of thought. This line of thinking was prone to take him down paths he was not ready to trek. They were friends.  _ Just _ friends.

He succeeded in distracting himself, grading papers like he had been before. It was easy to lose oneself in such monotony. 

_ Bryce Anders, seventy-three. Julia Micheals, eighty-four. Thomas Brahms, sixty-three. Nadine Murphy, ninety. _

_ Harleen Quinzel, calling his name. _ His head snapped up.

“Professah Crane!  _ Psst! _ Professah Crane!” She whisper-yelled, hands cupped around her lip-stick covered mouth. Several of her classmates, particularly the ones close to her, had turned around to give her dirty looks. She either ignored them or didn’t notice.

Once she’d gotten his attention she began to wave him over frantically.

“Professah Crane! Can you come over here, please?” Her Jersey accent was thick, and quite hard to understand from this distance.

He raised one eyebrow at the girl, silently questioning her sanity. Did she not know who she was provoking, or did she simply not care? 

Seeing his incredulous look she spoke again, a bit louder this time. 

“ _ Pretty _ please? It’ll only take a minute, I swear!”

Jonathan sighed. He sensed there would be no return to quiet until this request was fulfilled. Gritting his teeth, he set down his pen and mug, rising from his seat. She was seated at the front of the room and he was at her desk in a few strides of his long legs.

Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow Jonathan became the archetype of a disapproving teacher. Fingers tapping an impatient rhythm along his bony arm, he asked, “May I  _ help  _ you Miss Quinzel?” in a tone that wasn’t quite a sneer.

Harley didn’t seem to catch on to his annoyed demeanor, for her response was an eager nod. “Yeah, that was why I was callin’ you over here!” she chuckled. Jonathan felt his eyes narrow further. Disrespect or oblivious nature? That was the question.

“I just got done typin’ my paper ya’see,” she turned her laptop, which was absolutely  _ covered  _ in stickers, so that the screen was facing him, “and usually I get Lucy,” she nodded to the empty seat beside her, “to proofread it ‘fore I submit it, but she ain’t here today. Got an orthodontist appointment or somethin’. I  _ would _ just do it myself but I always miss those itty bitty mistakes, which is why I got  _ her  _ to do it in the first place-”

Jonathan cut her off. “Could you  _ please _ state your point, Miss Quinzel? I don’t have the time to dawdle here all day.”

She had the sense to look sheepish. “Right, sorry. I’m a bit of a rambler if ya couldn’t tell,” she chuckled again, more reserved this time. 

Her gaze flicked away from his. “Basically, what I was tryin’ to ask, is if  _ you _ wouldn’t mind lookin’ over my paper.” She returned her eyes to his, rubbing her sleeve anxiously. “So I know that it’s okay to turn in and stuff.”

One beat of silence passed, then two. Finally Jonathan spoke up.

“You want me-your teacher- to examine your work, point out any errors you’ve made, and then inform you if it meets the standards of the rubric.”

She looked a bit surprised, but nodded. “I guess so, yeah.”

He fixed his student with a stony look. “Miss Quinzel, what you’ve asked me to do is grade your work. Something that I will already do when you submit it to me, alongside everyone else. I see no reason as to why I should read this beforehand, and without consequence, opposed to letting your work speak for itself.”

Harleen seemed to shrink into herself, any and all previous cheer gone.

“I-I didn’t mean to waste your time or anythin’ professah! It’s just-” she bit her lip, trailing off.

He raised his brows at her. “Just..?” 

Once again she refused to meet his eye. “I don’t want it to seem like I don’t put any effort into my work, because I do. I really  _ really _ do. And for me, that means getting it perfect, or as close to it as I can. The reason I can never go over anything I write is because I’m always hyper-critical of it. First it’s just one sentence that sounds wrong, then the whole paragraph is garbage, and before you know it, it’s like an entirely different person wrote it!”

Once again, she found the courage to look him in the eyes again. Though she had gone back to fiddling with her shirt-sleeve.

“I didn’t just ask you ‘cause you're the professor, y’know. I wanted you to see it because I know you're fair. Strict, and a little cold sometimes, but fair.” She sighed. “But I can see that I just loused this whole thing up and wasted both our time so..”

Jonathan pulled the empty chair towards him, the noise startling the other into silence. He squinted at the laptop’s screen, eyes dancing over the typed letters.

“The word schizophrenia is misspelled on the second line,” he said, pointing at the error. 

Harleen’s widened blue eyes followed his direction. Slowly but surely her smile crept back onto her face. “Okay,” she said, correcting it.

They spent the rest of the lesson this way, Jonathan pointing out mistakes or suggesting ways to improve the writing, and Harleen listening dutifully taking the advice to heart.

It was not often that Jonathan offered such genuine assistance to his students. But it was enough less often that anything they said to him struck so close to home, either.

\---

It had touched Harley’s heart quite a bit, her encounter with Professor Crane. She’d always liked him, despite his outwardly callous demeanor. Most university teachers were happy to let their classes do as they pleased or coddle them completely. Sure, he was a bit overly strict sometimes, and he wasn’t the most easy to approach man in the world, but, as today had proved, it was because he cared. Her theory had been proven right; he just wanted to push his students to do their best that was all! Just another misunderstood soul.

With this thought in mind, she had made extra sure that he knew how much she appreciated his guidance, shaking one of his skeletal hands profusely between both of her pink-polished ones. He’d been a bit confused by this action; his eyebrows furrowed deeply on his forehead, and he was looking at her like she’d lost her mind, but she’d like to think he’d gotten the message. Just to be sure though, she stopped at the door offering him a final smile and wave. 

He’d been speaking with another student- Edward she was pretty sure his name was- but broke off to return it. His smile was more of a lop-sided smirk though. Edward had looked more than a little upset by this. Must’ve been having some serious talk about grades or something.

She wasn’t thinking about any of this when she continued her path down the hallway. The current topic of interest was much more pressing: should she wait until she got home to use the bathroom, or go now?

Most don’t have to put much thought into this sort of thing, but it was a bit different for Harley. She passed as female just fine, having been on estrogen since she was twelve and the hormone blockers working their magic, but she had yet to have any sort of surgery in the ‘down under’ region, so to speak. She’d had more than her fair share of people noticing she had to stand to do her business and being less than pleasant about it.

The lavatories in this hall were pretty crowded after class let out, but she supposed that she could leg it down to S.T.E.M hall-but that was a ten minute walk from here. Then again, the ride home was about thirty minutes and she wasn’t sure she was up for  _ that _ sort of bladder torture-

“You!” An indignant voice called from behind. She turned around. It was that Edward kid from earlier, still wearing that upset look.

Harley twisted her head to either side, blonde pigtails swishing with the movement. The hall was barren, save for herself and this sudden speaker. “Me?” she replied.

“No, I was referring to Queen Elizabeth the first, who died in sixteen-oh-three. Yes,  _ you _ !” He spat, stomping towards her. Once he’d reached her he continued his tirade.

“Just where do you get off, throwing yourself all over Jonathan like that?!” 

She blinked rapidly. Her head was spinning so much she almost felt nauseous. “What are-who’s Jonathan? What are you _ talking _ about?”

He faltered for a moment. “Professor Crane, I meant,” he clarified. The name sounded warped and foreign, as if referring to a title that no longer held meaning to him. This pause in the rant was fleeting, for he had puffed back up, a threatened blowfish defending its territory.

“Not that his name would have any meaning to you, you _harlequin slut_.” He spat.

“ _ What _ ?” she repeated, stupefaction increasing by the moment. Never in Harley’s life had she ever been called a ‘harlequin’ nor a ‘slut’. She wasn’t sure if she should be offended by the label or flattered by the thought put into it.

“Oh don’t you try to play dumb with  _ me _ , missy. Dumber than you already are that is.” He added with a scoff. “I’ve seen your type before; doe-eyed, push-up bra wearing little skanks that just bat their eyelashes at life’s problems until they go away. I mean  _ really _ who did you think you were fooling with that act?  _ ‘Oh Professor _ !’” he mimicked, clasping his hands together and pouting his lips. “ _ ‘I’m just  _ sooo  _ grateful for your help today! Why, I could just bend down and suck you off right on the spot!’ _ ”

He dropped the Harley impersonation. “I don’t think you know just how  _ embarrassing _ it was to watch the display-you’re lucky that Jon had the good grace to pretend not to notice back there.” He gestured towards the lecture hall’s closed doors.

She didn’t bother trying to interject this time. It seemed better to just wait until Edward was done.

“But know this, _harlequin_ _slut_ , because I’m only going to warn you this once.  _ Stay. Away. From. Jonathan _ . I have worked  _ too _ hard to get where I am with him now- had an entire outfit designed to get his attention that was  _ completely _ ruined, waited an entire week just for him to call me-” He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

Harley watched this all in stunned silence.

He opened his eyes again, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m going to take your silence as agreement. Just know that you have been warned, and be prepared to face the consequences should you try this again.” Then, casual as ever, he walked past her, down the hall and out the front door.

Harley waited until she could no longer hear the clicking of his shoes against the tile before relaxing fully. She looked both ways again, almost unsure if she’d imagined that whole encounter.

With a disbelieving shake of her head, she started towards the ladies room. She never would’ve guessed Edward had a thing for their professor, but hoped that it would work out all the same.

\---

Jonathan was perplexed as to why Edward suddenly cut their discussion short, almost sprinting after Miss Quinzel, but tried to push the incident out of his mind. He busied himself with his work, perfecting his formula and mixing batch after batch of toxin. He didn't stop until his lungs were aching for a cigarette.  


He was _not_ dwelling on the desperation in Edward’s face when he saw her, nor just how short Harleen’s skirt was-

No. Of course he wasn’t. That would mean he was jealous. He had nothing to be jealous about. He and Edward were _ friends _ . That was it.

Friends.

F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

And if his friend wanted to pursue the young lady who’d caught his fancy, then he was just fine with that. Fine and dandy.  


Bitterly, he inhaled the poison from his cigarette. Lenore was giving him that knowing green-eyed stare again, kneading the fabric of his pants between her paws. Sharp stings pricked his thighs from where her claws went in too deep.

“I am not jealous, Lenore,” he said before she had this chance to start. 

She rolled onto her back, rubbing her head against his stomach.

_ ‘Sure you aren’t doc. Whatever you say.’ _

He puffed air through his nose in annoyance. “I know you’re being sarcastic, and I don’t appreciate it.”

If he smiled a  _ bit _ more than usual or spoke with just a tad more fondness when Edward called later that night, Lenore never mentioned it. If she had, Jonathan would have just chalked it up to excitement for next week's plans.

Edward was going to rob Gotham Central bank. And he wanted Jonathan to come with him.

_ Just the two of them. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! My Harley is MTF. I see a lot of people in fandoms using FTM characters, but never see any MTF ones. That's hardly fair representation. Let's change that, shall we?


	5. Bitter, untruthful conculsions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bank is robbed, Ed is blatantly flirty, Jon is oblivious, and Jim Gordon is selfish. (Also Query and Echo are here!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of cigars, drugging without consent (fear-toxin), past child abuse, and murder.
> 
> There is a reference to another work of mine "A Scarecrow is Born" but you don't have to read that to understand the chapter. (I do recommend it if you're interested in my Jon's origin though.)

The van hit another pot-hole and Jonathan nearly lost hold of the mask in his lap. He repeated his earlier inquiry, still not completely sure that his eyes were to be believed in this moment.

“Edward, _why_ did you bring me a scarecrow costume?” 

Edward tutted, giving himself one last look in his handheld mirror before returning it to his suit pocket. The vain man in question, once again, seemed to be treating this operation as some twisted beauty pageant. Clad in a crisp green suit, (the same shade of brunswick, Jonathan noted) velvety purple tie, and black undershirt, he _once again_ looked the part of a runway model. The only difference being the black eye-mask and bowler hat to obscure his features. Jonathan was ninety percent sure that Edward’s hair was still gelled to perfection, even though it was hidden by the head-wear. 

Strangely, he felt disappointed that he couldn’t see it.

“We’ve been through this, Jon. The cowardly lion costume would’ve been too big, Monty _still_ hasn’t given me the tin man suit back, you would look _terrible_ in the Oz suit, and I highly doubt you would have agreed to dress as Dorothy. You don’t seem the type for red-ruby heels.”

“But why do we need the costumes in the first place? Whatever happened to the good old black sweaters and ski masks?” He gripped the burlap fabric so tight that his knuckles went white. 

This was the _Wizard of Oz’s_ rendition, so there was no stitched crooked frown to leer at him, nor the faded old blood stains of grandmother Keeny. Only two holes for eyes and pink patches to imitate blushed cheeks. At his feet lay the rest of the costume; patched blue sweater, fraying brown trousers, and a pointed hat.

Yet it still reminded him of that day- that fateful day of his seventeenth summer, when he’d been forced to don a similar garb. Hominy grits, scalding his skin, Granny’s cane bruising and bashing into him, crows with their sharp, _cruel_ talons and hateful eyes.

Jonathan Crane, human scarecrow.

He remembered it all like it was yesterday, and not fourteen years ago.

It had been the day he’d finally broken free- the scythe making quick work of his metaphorical binds as well as his grandmother’s throat. She was still buried there, under the floorboards of the house.

Yet clear as day, he could hear the last words she’d spoken to him.

_“You’ll burn for this, child!”_ she’d whimpered, cowering before him. _“Do this now and you’ll be dragged into hell by Lucifer himself!”_

Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears; he was no longer frightened of threats he’d discovered were empty, just as one would not tremble in the face of a gun that was unloaded.

Just as he was undaunted by his deceased relative the costume before him did not frighten him. But he had to admit that staring into the empty eye holes of this mask was rather.. _uncomfortable_.

He could _feel_ the scars on his arms burning, _taste_ the nervous vomit that he’d retched, _see_ his bloodstained reflection trembling in horror of what he’d done.

No, he did not fear the scarecrow. He _loathed_ it.

“Did you see how many news channel’s covered Joker’s last stunt?” Edward said, pulling him out of his thoughts. Jonathan tore his eyes from the offensive fabric. Edward was, decidedly, much more pleasing to look at.

“Quite a few from what I recall,” he replied. Not that he could recall very much knowledge of that event. He didn’t own a television, therefore was unable to tune into any news broadcasts.

“How about Poison Ivy, or Firefly? They each raked in about, what, one _dozen_ different stations?”

Jonathan felt his brow furrow. Again, he had no frame of reference for this. “I..suppose.”

“You see, they all have two things in common, Jon. _Gimmicks_ and _costumes_.” Edward counted off his fingers as he listed. 

“Ivy has her unique biological prowess, Firefly has flame-retardant wing-suits and fire based weapons, and Joker has.. his chaotic clown aesthetic, for lack of better phrasing. You’re only taken seriously when you stand out. Is Vicki Vale going to be talking about the two idiots who held up seven-eleven? Of _course_ not! She’ll be too preoccupied by the sharp-dressed man and his dashing partner in burlap pillaging Gotham Central’s vault.” Edward flashed one of those heart-palpitating smiles of his.

Jonathan felt himself flush a bit, both from his partner’s attractiveness and the unexpected compliment. You wouldn’t guess it, but Jonathan Crane was not hard to fluster, when done correctly. Take last week, for example, when Miss Quinzel had given him the most aggressive handshake of his life-

The thought of the young woman in question brought him up short. It was _her_ that Edward’s affections were for, not him, and he’d do well to remember that. 

So instead of answering, he ripped his gaze away from Edward and shoved the mask over his head. Thankfully, he’d opted for contacts again, so his glasses were not a problem.

“Aha! Just as I said, my dashing partner in burlap!” Edward exclaimed, reaching out to pat Jonathan’s arm. Smells of lavender and mint caressed Jonathan’s nose. He was suddenly less adverse to this mask; it hid the heat that had quickly spread from his cheeks to his ear-tips.

“Wouldn’t you agree, girls?” Edward called to the front of the vehicle. He was referring to his henchwomen, Query and Echo, who were their drivers for tonight. Well, _Query_ was driving. Echo was just extra muscle, Jonathan supposed. 

The latter woman twisted around to face them. She gave him a brief once over, chewing on her gum much louder than necessary. Slowly, she blew out a large pink bubble. After it popped, she chirped; “Yeah, boss! Looks great, just like ya said it would.”

“ _So_ great,” Query added, “that I don’t even need to see it to tell. I can just _feel_ it, y’know?”

Another pot-hole jostled the vehicle. Briefly, Jonathan was confused again. 

Why did it matter so much to Edward that _Jonathan_ looked good? Not long after asking himself this question was it answered- Edward wanted to look appealing, therefore he wanted those around him to as well. Probably why his henchwomen were dressed in those scandalous sequined bikinis. 

Or for his own viewing pleasure. They were both quite pretty. Well, Jonathan _assumed_ they were. As a gay man he wouldn’t consider himself well-versed in what made them so appealing, but he had a decent enough idea.

Another, much more sour thought, presented itself. _You sure as hell know what the defining standard for men’s beauty is. He’s sitting right in front of you._

His eyes wandered back to his partner. It was true. Edward looked absolutely radiant, soft glows of street lamps flashing upon his face as they drove by, his eyes alight with satisfaction of being praised. Again, he was disappointed at the lack of hair. He had half a mind to knock that damn hat from his head and run his fingers through it.

Jonathan frowned very deeply, toeing off his shoes so he could slide the costume’s pants over his own. 

It would do him no good to dwell on such things. _Admire him all you like, Jon, but it will amount to nothing. At the end of the day he’ll still be Edward Nygma and you’ll still be Jonathan Crane. Human scarecrow, unworthy of such affections._

He pulled the patched blue sweater over his head. Adjusted his shoes back onto his feet. 

“So, are you ready to commit your very first federal offense?” Edward inquired. His voice was muffled, as he’d affixed a filtered mask onto his face. It occurred to Jonathan that the car had stopped moving and he hadn’t even noticed.

Locking eyes with him, gorgeous green to haunting blue, Jonathan forced himself to smile.

  
  


“As I’ll ever be, my friend.”

If he hadn’t been so busy setting up his canisters of toxin and attaching his own mask, he would have noticed the way Edward’s grin faltered at the word ‘friend’.

\---

Peniaphobia. The fear of not having enough, or, as was the case with the stockbroker in front of him, the fear of losing all his money and spiraling into poverty.

“It’s _gone_ ! All _GONE_! The market’s completely crashed!” He bellowed, tearing at the ornate carpeting. Jonathan wagered he was grasping at bills of money, scrounging what he could before they disappeared. The woman next to him flinched away, clutching her purse closer and screeching. 

“The _clown_ daddy, it's the clown! He’s in my closet again!” She shrilled. This frantic declaration prompted more shrieks and cries from those around her. 

“ _Snakes_ ! Snakes in my _hair_!”

“OH GOD GET THEM _OFF_ -”

“I’m _sorry_ , mommy I’m _sorry_!”

Jonathan sighed contentedly at this display. An elegant cloud of toxin, appearing in almost invisible wisps of orange, blanketed the front room of the bank. It had barely been a minute before the first signs started cropping up. Shortness of breath, excessive sweating, dilation of the eyes. Every delicious little detail was being transcribed in his notebook. It was total ecstasy for him- his hand could barely keep up with all the information. Sentences were being left in fragments, his mind breaking off focus from one subject to another so quickly.

_Male, E.A forty-fifty, stockbroker. Crying out about disappearing money, digging at the carpet-_

_Female, E.A thirty pleading to father about clown in closet-_

_Female, E.A twenty-twenty five seeing snakes in hair-_

_Male, E.A sixteen repeating phrase ‘get them off’ likely refers to bugs-_

_Male, E.A sixty apologizing to mother grasping frantically at his chest-_

Something grabbed at his trousers. Jonathan startled a little, glaring at whatever had interrupted his note-taking. 

“Just what the hell-” he was unable to finish that sentence, either.

The woman, estimated age thirty screamed, “ _Daddy please_ , you have to believe me! He’s in the closet!” She buried her head in his knees, hands clawing at his bony legs, like a drowning woman scrabbling at rocks for purchase.

Her begging left him unmoved. Going to place his pencil behind his ear, he paused when he remembered the mask. Huffing he opted to slot in his notebook and close it. Now having a free hand, he yanked a fistful of the woman’s hair upwards, forcing her to look at him. 

“Do I look like your daddy to you, princess?” He sneered, icily.

For a moment she only gaped at him, a mascara streaked fish out of water. He was reminded once again of his grandmother’s last moments.

One word left the terrified woman’s mouth, piercing through the symphony of fright being conducted around them.

_“SCARECROW!”_

Jonathan balked, dropping the woman like she had burned him. She skittered backwards, pressing herself against the teller’s counter. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she repeated herself. “ _Scarecrow_ ! _Scarecrow_!”

The stockbroker next to her must have picked up on this somehow, because he was joining in. And then the woman with snakes in her hair, and the teenager ranting about bugs, and the man grasping at his chest. Some scrambled away from him, some pointing, some scratching at their eyes. All of them continued the chorus.

“ _SCARECROW, SCARECROW, SCARECROW_!”

A horrific, awe-inspiring chant. Just for him.

With this mask, he had become their greatest fear. Their master, taking his place in the saddle of fear, that wild unruly mare of the night.

Jonathan Crane, human scarecrow.

“Jonathan we’ve got to _go_!” Edward’s voice broke through the masses. Jonathan snapped his head towards him. He and Echo were toting duffel bags overflowing with bills.

He took one last, long look at the crowd before him. Counted every tear. Relished every scream. He needn’t transcribe any of it; he’d _never_ forget this moment.

“Oh damn it all-!” Edward said, exasperated. He marched to the star-struck Jonathan, taking him by the arm. Green paint smeared onto the sleeve of his sweater, but he hardly noticed it. As he was dragged towards the entrance Edward continued to rant to him.

“I said I wanted to be in the news, but I didn’t mean with a mugshot! The cops are four-minutes away, you idiot!”

“They were terrified. Because of this mask. Because of me!” Jonathan whispered under his breath. The door almost slammed right in his face; he still hadn’t turned away from the crowd, walking backwards as Edward dragged him.

As they made their way back into the van, Edward scoffed at him. “Of course it’s your toxin you’d notice, let alone what was _right in front of you_.”

That caught his attention. “What?” 

Edward looked at him, like he was searching desperately for something. There was a flicker of longing in his chest, before Jonathan reminded himself of who he was and what he looked like, and this feeling was stamped out.

Whatever it was must have been absent, for Edward sighed and looked away. 

“It’s nothing. Let’s go before _someone’s_ dawdling gets us arrested.” He ripped the van’s back door open, slinging in his duffel bag. Without even looking at him he climbed inside.

“Sure thing boss!” Echo said, doing the same. 

Jonathan took another glance at the chaos they were leaving behind and smiled. No, he concluded, he would never capture Edward’s interest in the way Edward had his. But, as bitter as that truth may be, his newfound knowledge was just as sweet.

“Scarecrow, huh? Might start using that one.”

\---

A few hours later, a weary Jim Gordon found himself at the scene of this particular crime. He sighed, scrubbing one hand at his tired eyes. Three in the goddamn morning and he'd been woken up for this _shit-show._ Barbara had a science fair tomorrow and he'd _better_ not have to skip it.

Nearly one-hundred thousand dollars, gone. What was worse was that horrible drug they'd found in the victims systems- forty people had been inside and ten of them had come out in body bags. The press would be circling this worse then great whites in bloody water. He'd light up a cigar if he weren't indoors.

"Is it time to call him, sir?" Chief O'Hara inquired tentatively. Jim considered this for a moment, cameras flashing photos of the chalk outlines. It made him think of all the media frenzy that would occur if he did, so he shook his head. Both at the mental imagery and the suggestion. The GCPD hadn't been faring to well in the public eye lately. Ryder was on their ass about the last Joker attack and Vale was petitioning for him to resign. Twenty-thousand signatures, and it'd only been around for a month.

He needed the force to win this time, not only for his precinct but for his career.

"Not yet O'Hara. Not yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just try to write, but then Rock Lobster comes up in your playlist, so you get distracted with that until an hour later you've been bopping to eighties rock and you've still written nothing, or is that just me?


	6. "At last, my love has come along.."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finally reveals to Jon what literally everyone else already knew, and things get pretty heated.. 
> 
> (Also a brief cameo from Harley, since everyone (myself included) loved her last time!)
> 
> Almost forgot to put a warning; graphic sex scene in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reference to a comment by the lovely sigmatimelord in here, wonder if you can find it?

Something was amiss. Jonathan wasn’t exactly sure _what_ it was, but knew that it was something.

He sifted through the papers on his desk; messy red ink decorated each one. Flitted through the files next to those. All his lesson plans were in there ready to go. His laptop informed him that he was expecting no other assignments. All the ones that were due had been turned in (aside from the usual culprits who were _always_ late.)

By all accounts Jonathan seemed to be on top of things. Brow furrowing, he propped his elbow onto the table, cheek pressing into his bony knuckles. The other hand tapped a steady rhythm as he pondered, nails clicking on the wood. A glance toward the clock- he had about six minutes to figure this out.

_Maybe a sip of coffee will jog my memory,_ he thought, reaching for his mug. His hand was met with open air. The clicking abruptly stopped.

Frowning, he turned his attention towards this anomaly. Nothing but a discolored ring in the wood. Had he left it in his office? Jonathan didn’t think so. He’d done some straightening up in there earlier, on the off chance Edward decided to come in-

_Aha!_ That was what was wrong. Edward hadn’t been in to bring him his coffee. How strange. Then again, they had performed a robbery two nights before. Maybe there was some underground type business he had to take care of? Launder the money or stash it in a safe house. Only, that didn’t feel quite right. Edward would have called him to let him know of his absence. Was he running late? Didn’t feel very likely. Edward had never missed a deadline before. And, as he liked to remind everyone he met, he had an eidetic memory so it wasn’t as if he’d forgotten. 

Anxiety started to prod at Jonathan’s gut. What if he’d been in an accident on the way to school? What if he’d gotten arrested? What if-

The doors to the lecture hall swung open with an over-dramatic boom. Jonathan jumped in his seat, head slipping from it’s position and nearly colliding with the desk.

A question of who the _hell_ thought they had the right to barge into his class like this was on his lips, but the words died rather quickly. The answer was an extremely upset Edward.

Usually neat clothing rumpled, scowl fixed firmly onto his handsome features, Edward stomped his way towards Jonathan’s desk. Once he reached it he slammed down the coffee mug that had been clenched in his fist-a ceramic black cup with _‘Boo, y’all.’_ inscribed in orange cursive- so hard that some of it’s liquid sloshed onto the table. Jonathan was surprised it hadn’t busted.

“Just _what_ is it going to take for you to understand?!” 

Blinking in a confused stupor, Jonathan uttered what he deemed to be the only appropriate response.

“Huh?”

“I mean, _seriously_ !” Edward continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been so obvious! Do I have to take out a billboard, Jon? Hire a skywriter? Hit you across the head with a two-by-four so it’s nailed through your thick _skull_?”

Jonathan watched in stunned silence as Edward paced frantically back and forth, continuing his tirade. 

“I buy an outfit specifically with the intent to impress you, and you ruin it. I even apologize to you after the fact, which is something I _never_ do. Bring you coffee-” He gestured angrily to the mug, “wear this overpriced french cologne-” he tugged at his shirt-collar, “deflect the advances of that moronic _harlequin slut_ who threw herself at your feet like-like some pathetic _dog_ begging for scraps, and what response do I get?” He stopped, looking Jonathan dead in the eye.

“Nothing. No thanks for my efforts, no returning of my _very blatant_ flirting. You just continue on like none of it’s even happening! Hell, at this point I’d be satisfied if you rejected me and said you never wanted to see me again.” He scoffed. “At least _then_ I would know where I stood with you. But since it is painfully obvious that I’m not going to get that by being subtle, I’m just going to come out and say it; you drive me absolutely _insane_ , Jonathan. You have ever since the day we met. You’re intelligent, handsome, devious, stubborn, have the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and every time you smile it’s like..coming home. As if I’m not meant to be anywhere else but beside you.”

Jonathan thought that if his eyes got any wider they might pop out of his head. Edward had feelings for him.

_Him_.

Jonathan Crane. The human scarecrow. It was too good to be true. There was just no way this was real.

Edward huffed, and wiped discreetly at his eye. “I suppose I’m not entitled to any sort of response. That’s only what I spent that entire rant asking you for.”

Before he could stop himself he blurted out, “Is this real?” 

He was kicking himself internally the moment it left his mouth. Out of _all_ the words in the english language he picked _those_ ?! Smooth, Jon, _real_ smooth.

“I confess my heart’s desire-lay myself completely bare before you- and _that’s_ all you have to say to it?!” Edward spat.

Jonathan scrambled to correct himself. “Wait I didn’t mean-not in a _negative_ way, Edward. I just needed to know if I was dreaming or not. I’d been so convinced that someone like you wouldn’t spare me a second glance that I’d never even dreamt you might feel the same way.”

Jonathan was worried for a moment that Edward might take back his confession, reveal it all to be some cruel joke. Instead he simply replied,

“You were?” The previous harshness was gone. His face was soft, longing even, fists un-clenched and loose at his sides. He decided he liked this look much better on him.

Jonathan nodded, running a nervous hand through his hair. Bashfully, he said,“I am..aware that there are much better men than myself, Edward. You included. You’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve met, in all senses of the word. Infinitely intelligent and stubborn. Your beauty is almost ethereal, otherworldly to me. Some might consider your gloating to be over-the-top or annoying, but I find it endearing. If asked to list all the qualities I enjoy about you, I’d be writing until the end of time. As for where you stand with me,” Jonathan couldn’t help but let out a puff of laughter, “Edward I think the _world_ of you. If what I’ve said now hasn’t made that clear, then I’ll spend every waking moment trying to prove that to you. If you’d allow me, that is.”

Edward was grinning, ear to ear, as if he were absolutely over the moon with joy. A single tear rolled elegantly down his cheek. 

“Oh _Jon_..!” He swooned. 

A man floating in air, Jonathan saw his body pushing itself up from the desk, taking two strides over to Edward, cupping his cheek oh, so delicately, as he leaned in for a long overdue kiss-

The school bell rang out it’s harsh tune, causing both men to jump apart, like they were on fire.

Jonathan stumbled back into his desk, hands bracing himself. Edward quickly scrubbed his eyes dry.

There was a long moment of the most awkward silence Jonathan had ever felt in his life.

Edward was the one to break it. 

“Well, I’ve waited this long already. Suppose _one_ more hour won’t kill me.” 

\---

Edward was absolutely wrong. Jonathan was surprised that he hadn’t fallen over dead before class was over. 

It was one thing to nearly kiss the man who possesses your heart, but it was _another_ thing to be in the same room as him for an entire hour before being able to do anything about it.

Jonathan felt like a child being told that he had to wait until morning to open his Christmas presents. How _could_ he wait when Edward was sitting there, with that smug knowing smile, impish twinkle in his eye? He was so close yet so infuriatingly far away. 

And, _of course_ , today just had to have a lecture on the schedule. When he’d read that in the planner he’d nearly killed himself right then and there. 

He was able to keep it together, just barely. His eye had not been able to stay away from Edward for very long. The flush on his face seemed perpetual, and he was sure that anyone looking closely enough would’ve recognized him for the lovesick fool he was. 

Edward certainly had, for he snickered not-so discreetly into his hand. _Bastard_. God, how he drove him wild.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of stumbling words, accidental eye-contact, and impulsive messing with his hair, Jonathan’s class came to an end. A sigh of relief left him. If he never had to endure this again it would still be too soon. 

Edward seemed to agree with this. Although he had been the less anxious of the two he was visibly happier at the sight of his peers gathering their things and leaving. 

Once again he made eye contact with Jonathan. This time it wasn’t embarrassing. It was almost magical, in fact. As if through this meeting of pale blue and green were enough to make the rest of the world fall away.

And then Edward’s eyes were shifting to the side. Jonathan followed them and found one Harleen Quinzel standing at his partner’s side. A frown threatened the corner of his mouth- what was she leaning in and whispering into his ear for? Couldn’t she see that they’d been having a _moment_?

Whatever it was must have been scandalous. Edward sputtered, looking at the girl incredulously. She giggled at his antics, though it didn’t seem malicious. Then she turned her attention to Jonathan. She gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, mouthing _‘You got this!’_.

Oh. So Edward hadn’t been the only one taking note of his distraction. 

Unsure of how to respond to her display, he gave Harley a stiff, tight lipped nod. Hopefully it would convey the underlying plea for her to leave, and quickly. 

Thankfully she did. Giving Edward a knowing grin (which he narrowed his eyes at) Harley slung her backpack over her shoulder and exited the classroom.

Edward turned back to Jonathan, smoothing down his shirt with one hand. 

“Shall we continue where we left off?”

Jonathan felt himself flush again, more out of excitement than embarrassment. “Let’s.” 

It was Edward who initiated this time, stepping around the desk and sauntering over to Jonathan. There was no hesitation nor any interruptions. 

Their eyes met; pale blue, and green, and the world came to a standstill. 

Smooth chapstick covered lips pressed against dry chapped ones. It was soft, sweet, and tasted like cherries. Spindly hands gently caressed the shorter man’s body, pulling him closer. Like two puzzle pieces they seemed to slot together perfectly.

Edward’s manicured nails dug themselves into Jonathan’s scalp, tugging him down further to his level. It sent shuddering tingles down the older man’s spine and he groaned into the kiss. He felt the other let out a soft puff of amusement. Edward broke off the kiss to gaze at his lover.

“Liked that, did we?” He purred. Instead of answering verbally Jonathan smashed his mouth hungrily onto Edward’s. The younger man let out a startled exclamation that quickly slid into a pleased moan.

A bit harsher than he’d meant to, Jonathan nipped at Edward’s lip. Feeling his partner flinch a bit, he paused his advances.

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to be so rough.”

A dark glint went over Edward’s eyes. “Oh, I’ve no problem with being rough, darling. Just didn’t expect it is all.” As if to prove this Edward leaned in, glasses nearly bumping into Jonathan’s, and nipped at his partner’s lip. Jonathan parted them, allowing Edward’s tongue entrance. It was not a fight for dominance as most novels portray it to be, but a tango. A dance with a stranger that you’d like to get to know a little better. And their tongues certainly were becoming acquainted; Edward’s frantically running over the nooks and crannies of his partner’s mouth and Jonathan’s tasting the minty freshness of Edward’s toothpaste.

After the dance started to become more heated and intimate, Jonathan felt a familiar hardness brush against his thigh. It stirred a heat within his own member. Breathlessly he growled;

“My office. _Now_.”

“Yes sir,” Edward moaned. It took everything in Jonathan’s power not to take him right then and there. His voice so pleading, his body so inviting-! Fuck, if they didn’t get to that door soon he’d combust.

Jonathan turned them, so that he could walk them to his office while still continuing their kiss. Once they’d reached it, Edward was briefly pressed against the door and Jonathan scrambled for his keys, trying desperately to not separate their lips. There were a few times where they accidentally broke off but they were quick to rectify this.

Finally the door opened. Jonathan smirked, closing it behind them.

Edward seemed to have a fair idea as to where this was going, for in one dramatic sweep of his arm he’d completely cleared Jonathan’s desk. Good thing he’d left his laptop on the other one.

Hopping onto the open space, Edward made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. Jonathan watched, licking his lips in anticipation. His lover noticed this and smiled teasingly. 

“Enjoying the show? Can’t say I’m surprised; I am quite the sight to behold, aren’t I?” With a flourish, he slid the garment off his shoulders and onto the floor.

“Indeed you are my dear.” He said, lowering his voice in an attempt to be sultry. Rolling up his sleeves and removing his glasses he continued, “In fact, I intend to show you just how much I enjoy you.”

“Oh?” Edward slipped out of his khakis.

“Mmhmm.” Jonathan pressed another kiss to Edward’s lips, more firmly this time. It still felt good to be true. If this did turn out to be a dream in the end, he’d remember it as the best he’d ever had.

Cupping one cheek gently, he continued. “I seem to remember you saying you’ve waited quite some time for this-”

“The day we met, nearly four months ago.” Edward clarified.

“-which means that I’ve been hurting you inadvertently for a criminally long period of time. I meant it when I told you that I think the world of you; causing you pain is the last thing I’d want to do, and it kills me to know that I have.” His brows furrowed a bit, frown tugging at his lip. 

Edward rubbed his arm gently, silently urging him on.

Clearing his throat, both to segway into his proposition and to prepare for it, he said, “I intend to make this up to you, Edward, starting with this.”

He pressed a heated kiss to Edward’s neck. The other gave a moan that almost bordered into a mewl. After gently sucking and licking that area, he began to make his way downwards. Sternum, lower chest, stomach, until finally he reached Edward’s clothed erection. He gasped when he felt Jonathan’s lips find his member. 

“I’d thought our first time would’ve been the other way around,” Edward cut himself off with a groan, for Jonathan was pulling his boxers down, “but this is a pleasant surprise.”

Jonathan considered saying that he was _full_ of pleasant surprises before realizing just how cheesy that line would’ve sounded. So, instead, he took Edward’s head into his mouth.

His lover gasped, eyes closed, fingers curled around the edges of the desk. Jonathan slowly massaged him with his tongue, working the rest of Edward’s member into his mouth. He didn’t have much of a gag reflex, so he was able to do this with relative ease.

“Ah, Jon!” Edward groaned. Jonathan felt himself moan, palming his own erection through his trousers. He didn’t pay himself too much attention though. This was about pleasing _Edward_ , not himself.

He bobbed his head, finding a steady rhythm, running his tongue along the veins he found, hands sliding up Edward’s stomach and chest finding the nipples. This elicited another gasp from his partner, who was now digging his hands into Jonathan’s hair, urging him closer to his dick.

Jonathan felt Edward twitching within his mouth. He was getting close now. Picking up the pace, Jonathan gave Edward’s nipples one final squeeze, hands flying to stroke himself to completion. He was so hard that it ached, or else he would’ve ignored it.

“Ah- _yes_ , Jon faster, _faster_ , faster, _augh_!”

With a cry Edward orgasamed, spilling his salty seed down Jonathan’s throat. He swallowed it with a practiced ease. After some thirty seconds he found his own release. Unfortunately for him it dumped into his boxers, as there was no awaiting mouth or condom to catch it. He’d worry about that later, though.

Thoroughly tuckered out and panting, Jonathan flopped his head onto Edward’s bare thigh. 

“Satisfied?” He inquired, though he had a pretty good guess at the answer.

“Thoroughly,” came the chipper reply. “And more than happy to return the favor, whenever you ask.”

Jonathan smiled, turning to peck his head’s resting place. Edward returned the favor, picking up one of his limp arms to chivalrously kiss the bony knuckles.

For the first time in Jonathan’s life, he was truly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I've never written a sex scene in extreme/graphic detail before, so I hope this is good enough! Seriously, how in the heck do people write smut with a serious face?! I kept alternating between blushing immensely, too flustered to go on, or laughing like a lunatic because I had to type the word 'dick' and I'm too immature to NOT laugh at that.


	7. Eggs, with a side of evil schemes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; Viki Vale is a scandalous lady with homophobic opinions. Other than that, and mentions of crime/fear toxin related shenanigans? No heavy stuff! Mostly just fluff with everyone's favorite dorks. And some good old snarky banter, because it just wouldn't be scriddler without that, now would it? (And brief allusions to sex, but nothing to serious).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in here, auto-correct changed the word 'doubt' to 'donut' and I was very tempted to leave it there, because I'm easily amused and found it very funny. I was able to restrain myself and fix the mistake, in the end.

Jonathan awoke to the sound of birdsong.

Strange, considering that Gotham was quite the industrial city with few trees to offer such creatures a home. Even stranger was the scent wafting through the air- eggs, and..chicken? Either he was still dreaming or being visited by the world’s friendliest robber. To find the answer to this would require opening his eyes. 

And, if he was being completely honest, he had no desire to do so.

Having no fear of any looting intruders, as he had not much to be pilfered in the first place, he rolled onto his side and burrowed deeper into his pillow. The fabric was odd as well, softer and smooth. Silk-like, even.

Jonathan  _ knew _ his pillows didn’t have any sheets on them whatsoever, let alone such a fancy one, and it was then that he remembered that he’d slept over at Edward’s. 

With a soft sigh he pried his heavy lids open. Instead of the face of his lover he was greeted by the digital clock on the table. “Six forty-four,” the neon letters flashed, over and over. 

He groaned in disgust. What kind of masochist even thinks about waking up before eight? It was  _ Saturday _ for fuck’s sake!

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. No point in trying to go back to sleep now; the bed was far too cold without Edward in it, the smell of breakfast being cooked calling to him like a siren.

Kicking the heavy comforter off, he shivered when the cool air caressed his bare skin. Last night’s exploits had begun with the two men’s clothes being tossed onto the floor and ended with the both of them nude and tangled in each other’s arms. He pulled himself up so that he was sitting, yawning so widely that his jaw popped. On the other nightstand on his side of the bed were his clothes neatly folded. 

He stood and shrugged them on, thinking about how they’d been removed in the first place.

Edward had grinned at him, complimenting how his gray turtleneck had hugged his frame just right, before remarking that he would look  _ much _ better without it. He’d said something in a similar effect about his undergarments and jeans for they were given the same treatment. Edward had already been mostly undressed, save for his boxers, which he had taken the time to fold and set next to the rest of his outfit, before shoving Jonathan harshly onto the bed and-

_ Christ _ , if he kept thinking like this he might just have to take a cold shower.

He zipped the fly of his jeans shut brusquely, as if to remind himself that was the way they’d ought to stay. Don’t get him wrong, sex with Edward was quickly becoming one of his most favorite activities, but it was way too early to be engaging in it. 

After breakfast, maybe. At the very  _ least _ after he could get his hands on some coffee. 

A now clothed Jonathan shuffled into the hallway. He walked more carefully than usual, due to his unfamiliarity with the area as well as a desire to not crash into anything. He’d never been the most graceful of men and was even less so when he was tired. And Edward’s house was  _ filled _ with sharp edges and corners for him to stumble into.

Take the hallway for example. Couldn’t have been more than two feet wide and there was a decorative table in the middle, with lit candles on top of a lace doily.  _ (Granted, the candles were the kind in glass jars that were too wide to really wobble but  _ still _.)  _ And the wall opposite to that one was just as bad. It was taken up almost completely by a large painting. The piece of art itself was actually very nice- a delicate white flower amidst a background of swirling green leaves- but it was ridiculously  _ huge _ . With sharp, easy-for-a-tired-man-to-bump-into, edges.

Luck must have been on his side for he experienced no incident with either piece of furniture.

Until he reached the living room, where he promptly tripped over his own feet.

His arm shot out to balance him, whacking painfully against the archway. Jonathan cursed. It was always  _ something  _ wasn’t it?

“I assume all the ruckus means you’re awake, dear?” Edward called.

Blushing in embarrassment, Jonathan was quick to stand taller and run a swift hand through his hair. 

“No Edward, I didn’t hurt myself. Thanks for asking.” He replied, voice deeper from his recent slumber and dripping in sarcasm. 

The kitchen was too far away or Jonathan to see Edward’s face but he could practically _ hear  _ him rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t have been the first, nor the last time you’ve done such a thing. Collide with one more object and I’ll have to start baby-proofing the house.” 

Jonathan snorted. With just how dramatic he knew Edward to be this was very likely to be less of a jest and more of a passive-aggressive threat.

“We could always just go back to my apartment next time,” he remarked, making his way to the kitchen. He was also careful this time as the space between Edward’s leather sofa and grand piano was quite narrow. At least he’d hit carpet if he fell. What kind was it? Shag? Very soft and very fluffy, whatever it was.

“ _ Absolutely _ out of the question! Not as long as that  _ rat _ lives there.” Edward said, swirling some beaten eggs around in his skillet. Chicken sizzled away in a separate one next to them. Jonathan wasn’t usually one for breakfast but he’d be lying if said this wasn’t making his mouth water.

“Aw, but Edward,” Jonathan mock cooed, propping one elbow onto the marble breakfast bar, “Lenore  _ likes _ you!”

“Well  _ I _ don’t like her!” He shot back, poking his egg mixture with a spatula. Jonathan smiled. He found Edward’s disgust towards his pet hilarious, if not a little cute.

“Who does she think she is, rubbing herself all over me like that?” Edward continued. “It’d almost be tolerable if she was a normal cat, but  _ no _ . You just had to get a sphynx cat didn’t you  _ Jon _ ?” 

Edward shuddered in disgust. “I’ll never know how you can stand to look at that thing let alone  _ touch _ it. There’s just so much.. _ skin _ . Wrinkly skin. You know what else has lots of wrinkled skin, Jonathan? Old people. You aren’t a cat owner, you’re a glorified assistant for the elderly.”

He barked out a laugh. “What can I say? She’s a good patient.”

Edward sniffed. “I’m sure she is.” Then, with more sincerity, he added, “Although I can’t say that I approve of your choice in animals, it is rather endearing to see you interact with her. There’s something sweet about the supposed ‘master of fear’ having such a gentle side to him.”

“I reserve it for a select few.” 

Edward smirked in delight. The light pink dusting his cheeks did not go unnoticed.

“Have you ever had a chicken omelet before?” Edward inquired, dispensing the chicken from it’s pan and into the one containing the eggs.

“No.” Jonathan almost added that his usual breakfast was a mug of coffee and a cigarette, but wised up and kept his mouth shut. That would get him nothing but nagging.

“Good. You’ll be starting off with the best kind then; one cooked by yours truly.” Edward said, nose turned up, a haughty grin on his face. 

Jonathan snorted at this blatant display of arrogance. 

Edward slid the omelette out of the pan and on to a plate. He smirked at Jonathan as he set it in front of him. The older man fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was just an  _ omelette _ for christ sakes- not like it was going to rock his entire world.

Not expecting much, he cut a piece off with his fork and brought it to his lips.

And then his mind went completely blank as Jonathan Crane ingested the best meal he’d eaten in his entire life.

Eyes the size of saucers, fork frozen within his mouth, it was like his body had gone into some sort of.. _ flavor shock _ . And perhaps it had, seeing the usual garbage it was used to receiving.

“Well? How is it?” Edward asked bemusedly. He was obviously pretending he couldn’t see Jonathan’s comical expression, scrubbing the pans in the sink. Arrogant little shit.

Mustering up the might to swallow, Jonathan decided to be equally mischievous. Schooling his features into vague disinterest, he shrugged. “It was okay.” 

Edward did a double-take, clearly offended. Jonathan let it last for a few seconds before breaking into a joking grin- wouldn’t want to start a fight now.

Realizing that his lover was kidding Edward huffed. “Cheeky bastard.” He dried his damp hands on a towel, now finished cleaning up. 

“Takes one to know one,” Jonathan replied. 

Edward huffed, again, and walked around the breakfast bar. To Jonathan’s surprise he then leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are  _ very _ lucky that you’re cute.” Edward murmured into his ear. Jonathan shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath. 

Before Jonathan could decide whether to play this increasing tension off like it was nothing or to decide to forgo that cold shower after all, Edward had pulled away. 

“I heard that GCN is running a segment featuring a certain unsolved robbery,” Edward said innocently, as if he didn’t know full well what he’d almost started, “so feel free to tune in with me once you’ve finished. And that includes putting those dishes  _ in the dishwasher _ . After you’ve rinsed them off this time.” The older man frowned lightly. _ One _ time he forgot, just the one. He suspected that even if they were still together thirty years from now Edward would continue to harass him about the incident.

“I’m not your maid nor your mother,” Edward continued to nag, “and even if I  _ were _ , I would not waste my valuable time cleaning up after you. You’re a grown man and more than capable of doing so yourself.”

Jonathan gave him a mock salute to let him know that he’d understood. 

Satisfied, the younger man strode over to the couch, planting himself delicately onto the middle cushion. Always the second, never the first or third. When Jonathan had inquired about this strange habit Edward had launched into a very detailed explanation as to why the middle seat was the best of the three cushions; best view of the TV, optimum amount of ventilation, easiest access to the coffee table, etc, etc. If Jonathan had any doubts of his partner’s obsessive compulsive disorder, that incident obliterated them.

Jonathan ignored the first bit of the news and focused on finishing off this omelette. If the food in his house was even half as good as this he might just start eating on a day-to-day basis.

It was when he’d gone to put away his plate, after he’d rinsed it off beforehand, that things started to get interesting.

_ “According to Gotham Central Police Department’s commissioner, Officer James Gordon,”  _ Ryder was cut off by Vale, his co-host.  _ “Who I have been petitioning to resign for months now. Twenty-five thousand signatures and counting so far.”  _

Ryder paused, awkward looking from the camera to the woman beside him. After a few beats of silence she made a gesture for him to go on. Clearing his throat he continued.

_ “Erm, as I was saying, the criminals responsible for last week’s robbing of Gotham Central, who managed to escape with ninety-five thousand dollars, are still at large, their identities unknown. Most notable was the man who has gotten away with drugging and killing a quarter of the bank's hostages. Many have taken to calling him Scarecrow, in reference to the Wizard of Oz costume he was sporting.” _

“Think we know a guy like that, Ed?” Jonathan asked, taking his place beside Edward. Casually he positioned one arm on the back of the couch, shifting the other close to him. Edward smiled and leaned his head onto Jonathan’s bony shoulder, hand linking with his partner’s. Despite the obvious contrast, one calloused and skeletal, the other soft and manicured, they fit perfectly together. As if made of the same mold.

“As a matter of fact, I think I do. A certain university professor that I hold a flame for. Likes to come and wreck my apartment from time to time.”

Jonathan hummed.“How unprofessional of him.”

“ _ Frighteningly _ so,” Edward turned his head slightly so that he was looking at Jonathan instead of the television.

Seeing an opportunity to be the romantic one, he pressed a kiss into Edward’s hair. It hadn’t been gelled yet and a few loose strands dangled onto Edward’s forehead. Jonathan elected not to mention this, knowing the moment he did Edward would fly away from him to go preen over himself in the mirror, fixing and toying the locks this way and that until they were just so. He had no idea why Edward was so self-conscious about his hair. Honestly he preferred it’s natural, scruffy state.

The conversation between the two men had reached a lull, so the news was reported without interruptions for a while. Unless one was to count the two anchors talking over each other to talk about their preferred topics; Vale kept trying to promote her anti-Gordon propaganda, and Ryder wouldn’t shut up about his brother-in-law being hospitalized by Joker’s last attack.

Jonathan paid neither of these things much mind, save for Jack Ryder mentioning that a few of the ‘surviving drugging victims’ had mentioned hallucinating a god-like scarecrow wielding a scythe. He made a mental note to purchase one later.

But then, to nobody’s surprise, Ryder made a seemingly harmless comment that deeply offended Edward.

It had started off tame enough.

_ “The Scarecrow wasn’t the only unconventionally dressed criminal,”  _ Vale had said.  _ “He was joined by two women who appeared to be dressed in sequin lingerie, seemingly as unashamed to breaking the law as they are to putting their bodies on display-” _

Edward had frowned, muttering, “They shouldn’t have to be ashamed of either.” Jonathan hmmed to show that he’d heard.

_ “Uhm, Viki.” _ Ryder interrupted, looking sheepish. The woman reporter glared at the man next to her, looking the part of a dragon unafraid to breathe flame. _ “Remember what HR said about making comments like that on air? Y’know that you’re not supposed to anymore, because it isn’t very progressive?”  _

“Yes,  _ Viki _ , listen to HR before you get yourself into another publicity scandal.” Edward sneered. 

“You really don’t like her, do you?” Jonathan remarked, shifting his gaze back towards the man next to him.

Edward met Jonathan’s eyes. “Of course I don’t. She’s the one who said, quote, “November the fifth; the day Gotham city New Jersery held it’s first legal gay marriage, and the beginning of our city’s decent into hellish deviancy,” end quote.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

_ “Well why don’t  _ you  _ finish the cue card, since you're such an expert, progressive boy.” _ A real piece of work, this woman. Jonathan didn’t think he liked her very much either.

Once again, Ryder looked from his co-host to the camera. Someone off-screen must have given this suggestion the okay, because he shrugged and began to read.  _ “Along with the two women in bikinis-who should, indeed not be ashamed of their physical appearance- was a man in a green suit and bowler hat, who the public has dubbed ‘The Puzzler’ in reference to the puzzle he left for Gotham’s police force-” _

_ “Nobody calls him that Jack.”  _ Vale snapped, looking more sour than ever. _ “You are the  _ only _ one who calls him that.” _

__ This was mostly drowned out by Edward’s indignant outcry.

“The _ puzzler _ ? Seriously?” He exclaimed, jerking upright. His elbow slammed into Jonathan’s ribs, and he winced, glaring accusingly at the angry man. He was not acknowledged; Edward was already launching into a full sermon of his offense.

“I left a riddle! Not a  _ puzzle _ . In green paint on the bank’s wall; ‘Here’s the one clue you deserve, Gotham Police force; The rich need me, the poor already have me. Eat me, and you will die. What am I?’”

“-Nothing,” Jonathan answered immediately. That was ignored as well, to his chagrin.

“There is absolutely no way in which that is a puzzle. It is, very clearly, a riddle. An enigma, a conundrum. If they wanted to give me some sort of moniker it should have been, by this  _ idiot’s _ logic, something to the effect of  _ ‘Mr. Enigma’ _ , or  _ ‘The Riddler’ _ .”

“Riddler has a nice ring to it, actually.” Jonathan added, expecting to be unheard. To his surprise Edward faltered, turning to him. 

“Are you just saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear, or because you actually think that?”

He raised a brow. “If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have said it.”

Edward went quiet for a moment, as if mulling something over. It pricked Jonathan’s nerves a bit.  _ ‘Quiet’  _ and _ ‘Edward’ _ usually weren’t in a sentence together unless the words _ ‘is not’ _ were in between them.

Then he nodded, two quick dips of his head. “Alright, it’s settled. Next crime we commit I’m leaving it signed ‘The Riddler’.” He settled back into Jonathan, content once more. The professor let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He’d said the right thing after all.

“Sounds good to me.”

“I was thinking something a bit more inventive this time. An escape room, specifically. We could lure a few people in, give them around half an hour to to escape, and when they inevitably fail, give them a taste of your toxin.”

“Genius.” They were interviewing the surviving test subjects, so he was actively trying to pay attention to the news for once.

“Of course it’s genius, darling. _ I’m  _ the one that thought it up.”

“Mhmm.”

Edward frowned lightly, fingers tapping thoughtfully against Jonathan’s chest. Suddenly he lit up, metaphorical light-bulb going off in his head.

“Hey, Jon?” Edward asked, seductive lilt to his voice.

“Mm?” Was Jonathan’s insightful reply.

Edward walked two fingers down his chest, strutting confidently down his stomach, and stopping at his groin. His breath hitched when they’d reached their destination, at which Edward smirked victoriously.

“I do love the way these pants look on you, but I can’t help but think that they’d look much better on the floor. The floor of my bedroom, in particular.” He leaned in closely, warm breath creating goosebumps along Jonathan’s neck. 

“Don’t you agree?” Edward purred. Flustered, face surely red enough to put any tomato to shame, Jonathan could do no more than nod.

Some other station would probably report on his victims later; he’d catch it then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the idea of Ed naming himself out of spite toward someone he thought was an idiot, so here we are. I've got the ending to this fic planned out, but don't panic- this universe isn't gonna end with that. I plan to use these characters in other, brief fics/one-shots. And possibly somethings with Harley/Joker and Harley/Ivy, but I'll cross THAT bridge when I get to it. For now, I'm giving my full focus to this story.


	8. "Sir? It's the bat-phone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; drugging without consent (fear toxin), death, kidnapping, claustrophobia. Query and Echo are back (mostly a cameo).
> 
> School starts for me pretty soon, so I'm trying to get this finished before that. I know that I'll have ZERO time to work on this when that happens. Wish me luck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two super-villains having a crime date.

A loud thudding sound interrupted the room’s quiet atmosphere. It was the sound of a man, probably in his thirties, slamming himself against two inches of ballistic glass. 

“Please, let me out! The walls are closing in! I’ll be _crushed_!” The man sobbed. His knees gave out and he crumpled, hands sliding against the glass and creating an awful squeak as they did so.

Jonathan watched this all serenely from the other side of the glass. There was only one test subject in the room, so his note taking was being conducted at the normal speed, though it was still messy and hard to read- the woes of being a doctor.

_Male, E.A mid-thirties. Claustrophobia. Displayed signs of panic within the first minute of exposure (gaseous form), began banging on glass pleading for release. Based on the subject's phrasing I’ve concluded that he was hallucinating the walls of the room closing in around him._

Another thud. Jonathan glanced up from his journal. Blue eyes shone with curiosity from behind burlap. The man was mostly out of view by this point, a single outstretched hand upon the glass.

The man beside him, Edward, reached forward with his cane to tap the glass. There was no response. 

“Another one bites the dust,” he quipped, retracting his cane. His gloved hand found the button just below it’s curved handle. From within the testing area, several exhaust fans came to life. Jonathan watched with a small amount of sorrow as the orange mists of his toxin were sucked into them. 

Oh well. At least it was being dispersed outside the building, and into Gotham city. It wasn’t very likely that any of the citizens would be affected _too_ badly as they weren’t receiving concentrated doses like his test subjects, but there was a very good chance of paranoia and mild anxiety. Besides, there was always the next idiot who failed to escape.

“Alright girls, the escape room is safe. Show this gentleman the exit, would you?” Edward called. 

A few seconds passed before the door inside the testing room opened. Query and Echo, wearing gloves and gas masks along with their sequin bikinis, grabbed the deceased man by his armpits and dragged him out of the room. A fond smile played at Jonathan’s lips, and he casted his gaze toward Edward. 

“That scene seem familiar to you?”

Edward gave him a brief look of confusion before taking a glance at his two henchwomen. “Ah, yes. Our first official meeting where we disposed of that prostitute's body in the alley. I remember it well.”

Query had entered the testing room again, mop in one hand, the other pushing the yellow mop bucket in front of her. She gave it a few dunks, looking rather disgusted, and began to clean the area where the man had died. The subject had probably relieved himself whilst in the throes of death.

“Wonder if anyone found her.”

Edward patted him on the arm. “I’m sure someone discovered her, dear. As I mentioned before, the entirety of that building uses that dumpster. If none of the tenants made the discovery then someone from the sanitation crew would’ve happened upon her.”

Jonathan hummed in delight at this thought.

Another subject was led into the room by Echo. A woman, probably late sixties, maybe early seventies. Her head lolled onto her shoulder. As a precaution all their unwilling participants had been sedated beforehand.

A chair sat in the middle of the testing room, one of the cheap plastic ones, and she was lowered onto it carefully. Her still form reminded him of a certain dead woman, buried under the floorboards in Arlen Georgia. Jonathan had a feeling he was going to enjoy this one more than usual- which was saying something, seeing that he was most happy when conducting his experiments.

Query finished cleaning just as Echo finished settling the woman into her seat. Jonathan felt joy bubbling up within him as the two exited the room. Although his favorite part of this experiment was, of course, the testing of his toxin, observing the fear that the victims went through beforehand was its own special treat.

Edward cleared his throat. Whether that was because he was about to begin speaking or because he knew it would make Jonathan look at him was unknown. Maybe a bit of both, for he smirked at having his lovers eyes on him, and reached into his suit-pocket for his walkie-talkie.

Edward’s voice crackled from the speakers in the testing room’s ceiling. 

_“-esting, one two. Ah, there it is! Miss? Are you awake?”_

The woman stirred, lifting her head upright. She cast a cloudy gaze around the room before her. Jonathan imagined it was quite confusing; waking up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by odd puzzles and riddles, strange voices talking from the ceiling.

“What the..where-where am I?” Her confusion was very quickly turning to panic. _Lovely_. “Who are you people, and what have you done to me?!” 

Edward chuckled, a dark sound. It was music to Jonathan’s ears.

“It’s always the same questions; who are you, where am I, why are you doing this..honestly, I wouldn’t mind these impromptu interrogations of you people could bother to be original with them. Seeing as you aren’t I will give you one, and only one, warning.” His voice discarded it’s upbeat showman’s tone. “Speak to me in such a tone again and it will be the last thing you ever do. _Understand_?”

The woman was looking right at the glass, bug-eyed, a deer caught in headlights. There were a few moments of tense silence before she gave her shaky nod of understanding.

Jonathan was grinning ear to ear. Each time Edward showed this intimidating side he was sorely tempted to take him right then and there. He had been able to show restraint thus far. 

He could only hope that would last until the end of the research day.

“Good!” Edward chirped, right back to his showman’s falsetto. The woman visibly relaxed, to Jonathan’s disappointment. “Glad we were able to come to an understanding. I’ll get right to the explanation so we can get started- the rules are simple, really. There are twelve clues hidden around you. Some in the form of riddles others puzzles. Your task is to solve each of this in the correct order before your time runs out. How much time do I have, you ask? Thirty minutes.” Under his breath he added, “ _More_ than generous given the simplicity of this challenge.”

“Should you succeed the location of the key, which is to be used on the door behind you-” The woman whipped her head around to look, giving the door a longing stare, “and you will be free to go! Easy, yes?”

“And if I don’t?” the woman asked, swallowing before continuing. “Succeed, I mean.”

Edward frowned, voice taking on a hard edge once more. “Do I _really_ have to spell it out for you?”

The woman shook her head no. She used one dainty hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. “No sir. I-I understand.”

“Wonderful. Your time will begin in three, two..” where Edward should have said ‘one’ he pressed the second button on his cane. On the wall opposite the glass, a timer of thirty minutes began its descent.

Jonathan couldn’t help but laugh at the way this woman flew from her chair, running around looking for clues like a chicken with it’s head cut off. 

Edward laughed right along with him. “I’m beginning to see why you enjoy doing this so much. We really should do this sort of thing more oft- _oh_!”

Jonathan roped his partner into a bone crushing embrace before he could even finish that sentence. He didn't think he'd ever heard more beautiful words pass his lover's lips.

“Be prepared for me to hold you to the offer.” He growled, hands flying to unmask himself. Screw waiting until the end of the day- this was happening right here, right now, research be damned.

Edward, who clearly saw where this was going, pressed the third button on his cane. To the test subject’s horror, the timer ended prematurely. Edward's pre-recorded response came from the speakers, accompanied by wispy orange clouds of toxins.

_“Sorry! Looks like some-one was toooo slow!”_

“NO! I was doing like you asked! I was on the third riddle!” The woman shrieked, running to pound her firsts onto the glass, as the man before her had done.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, the two men focused entirely on the other.

They made love on the floor whilst she met her terrified end not two feet away, screaming to the bitter end.

\---

“Commissioner, you’re not going to like this but-” 

“But _what_ O’Hara?” Gordon snapped back. Unbeknownst to him he and Chief O’hara were standing in the same spot the Riddler and Scarecrow were, hours before.

Chief O’Hara, a bit taken aback by his superior’s tone, said, “We’re way in over our heads with this one sir. We _need_ to call Batman.”

Gordon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with nicotine-stained fingers. “I was afraid you were gonna say that.”

He knew that O’Hara was right, for he was rarely ever wrong on matters such as these, but he just didn’t want to admit it. Vale had gotten to thirty-thousand signatures this month, Joker had escaped Arkham for the third time, and Ryder just wouldn’t let up on the force about _that_ one, Firefly had set an entire neighborhood on fire and, the cherry on top of this whole _rotten_ sundae? He’d missed Barbara’s science fair after all. She’d gotten first place and everything, built one of those baking-soda volcanoes, with nobody but her personal nurse to witness it. And she was only there to wheel her on stage to accept her award.

_God_ , he was a shitty father. And a shitty police commissioner if the body count was anything to go off.

He sighed heavily through his nose. 

“It’s only gonna get worse the more we put this off, sir,” O’Hara said, meekly. 

Jim was quiet for a moment. It took him a few hours overtime to fill in Batman on the case details. If he called him in today that meant he probably wouldn’t get home until after midnight. Again. And Barbara, being the sweet girl she was, would refuse to go to bed until he got home. _Again_.

“Give me the damn phone.” 

Was this a shitty father thing to do? Yes. But continuing to ignore the fact that he was in no way equipped to deal with this shit-show would be an even shittier thing to do as the commissioner.

Sometimes he had to put his job first.

No matter how much he hated himself for it.

\---

In the study of stately Wayne manor, Alfred, being the loyal butler he was, was in the midst of dusting and polishing his master’s bust of William Shakespeare. He’d never understood Bruce’s liking for such a grandiose sculpture, but to each his own he supposed.

He’d just gotten through with the dusting when the phone rang. He paused for a moment, watching the blinking red light. Then, he answered.

“I’ll call him, sir.”

Over his shoulder he shouted, “Sir? It’s the bat-phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, Jimbo did the right thing. And in case you didn't catch it, Barbara is already in a wheel-chair. I might elaborate more on that later. All you need to know for now is that it isn't Joker related. I always liked the idea of Oracle being a hero despite her disability, but its more impactful, for me, if her disablilty is something she's had to deal with her whole life and, in spite of that, she still manages to do great things. Not because Joker did something to her that temporarily stopped her, but because she is smart and strong in her own ways.


	9. Not all things fade.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; !!BIG WARNING OF PAST CHILD ABUSE!!, referenced character death, implied (past) rape and allusions to (consensual) sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a much needed discussion, and Batman makes his first appearance. I left it vague enough that you can picture him in your preferred bat-suit/ as your favorite actor. Personally, I like to see him as Adam West in a more modern costume. (I really like 60s Batman if you couldn't tell.)

Moonlight shone through the bedroom window, it’s pale light caressing the side of Edward’s face. Strands from his loose, un-tampered, hair clung to the remaining beads of sweat on his brow. The thin blanket was pulled halfway down Edward’s chest. The exposed flesh was dotted with purplish-red bruises. If one were to look closely enough, they would find that they were perfect ovals made from teeth marks.

Jonathan had no need to do so; he remembered leaving each and every one.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s _rude_ to stare?” Edward asked, smirking and tracing lazy circles onto Jonathan’s scarred arms with his thumb. The older man wasn’t quite sure how okay he was with that, as this was the first time anyone but himself had touched those. He elected not to voice this thought until he decided.

Instead he replied, “As a matter of fact, she didn’t. Not that I would have listened if she had.”

Edward chuckled. “Ah I see! So, you were a rebellious child then?”

Jonathan paused for a moment. Was this an innocent question, part of their playful banter, or a genuine inquisition about his childhood? He wasn’t sure he was willing to answer if it was the latter.

Jonathan had whispered not one syllable of his past to anyone before. It was an awful, _ugly_ part of his life that he had jailed deep within himself. A weak little boy, snivelling and weeping, covered in hominy grits and his own blood, begging grandma to _stop_ , he’d do _anything_ she wanted if she’d only make it _stop_.

What would he find, if he unlocked that cell door?

And, more importantly, what would _Edward_ think of it?

_It wouldn’t matter. The minute I did, the crows would pour in by the thousands, and devour whatever scraps that have been left behind. Just as they always have._

Each of his scars burned painfully. As if his thoughts were just as sharp as the crow’s talons, re-opening his wounds.

“Jon?” Edward said, tentatively placing a hand on his cheek. Jonathan flinched away at first, lost within his head. He leaned back in when he realized it was just Edward.

His brows had furrowed over his green eyes. “Are you alright? You went a little quiet there.”

“Fine.” Jonathan responded. He hated how it sounded. Raspy, barely audible. A broken old man’s voice. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“‘M fine.” There. That sounded marginally better.

Edward didn’t seem to agree. “We’re both adults, Jon,” he scoffed, “you don’t have to lie to me. Just _say_ that you don’t want to talk about it and I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Okay. I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbled. At least Edward hadn’t seemed to detect just what it was that he wanted to keep to himself.

“That’s fine.”

Edward settled back into him, arm draped across the thin man’s chest, head resting upon his bony shoulder. Jonathan wrapped one of his arms around Edward’s shoulders pulling him as closely as he could. Not that he’d ever admit this aloud, but he enjoyed these cuddling sessions quite a bit, especially after sex. It was a nice change of pace to finishing himself off and sleeping in a cold, lonely bed.

There were a few peaceful moments of silence. Then, just as Jonathan had started to drift off, having shoved the whole matter to the back of his mind, Edward broke it.

“If I told you about _my_ childhood, would you feel comfortable sharing yours with me?”

Jonathan sighed. So Edward had picked up on the underlying issue after all. 

“What happened to not talking about it?”

Edward shrugged. “We could continue to avoid it, sure. But that would only be delaying the discussion. If you want to continue this relationship-” the idea of things between them ending struck a nervous cord within him- “then you have to tell me these things, Jon. You should know by now that I don’t do things half-heartedly. I’m prepared to give all of myself to you, but that’s only if you’re willing to do the same.” In a softer tone Edward added, “I’ll ask you again; would it make you more comfortable if I went first?”

There was a pregnant pause as Jonathan considered Edward’s words. He was right. It would be unfair to keep such a large part of himself hidden away. Ugly or not Edward had a right to see it. And if he decided that it was too much emotional weight for him to bear..he had a right to leave as well.

“I’ll go first. Get it out of the way.” 

Edward nodded, giving an encouraging kiss to his shoulder blade.

Jonathan took a deep breath. Then, like water flowing from cracks in a dam, the words poured from him in all of their terrible truth.

“I never knew my birth parents, only what Grandma told me about them. Mom had me outta wedlock with her drug dealer when she was seventeen. Dad skipped town as right after she told him she was pregnant. Mom followed a few days after I was born. That left Grandma to raise me- and she _hated_ me for it. She was fanatically religious, told me that my mother was a no good sinning whore, and since _she_ wouldn’t repent then I should take her place. Repent was very much an umbrella term for her; she’d scream bible verses at me, beat her with her walking cane, pour hot grits on me, dress me up in a scarecrow costume and leave me tied up for the damn _crows_ -” Edward flinched when he mentioned the costume.

Jonathan took this slight lull as an opportunity to catch his breath, gather his thoughts a bit. In the nose, out the mouth.

Edward touched his arm gently, as if it might shatter in his hand were he to press too hard. “So these are from..?”

Jonathan shakily nodded. “The birds, yeah. She’d trained them to hurt me, somehow. Always came in a great big flock when she called. It always made me think of the locust plagues from the bible, the way they seemed to make the whole sky turn black.”

“Jesus..” Edward muttered. He pressed a delicate kiss to one of the larger scars. It gave Jonathan the resolve to finish this pathetic tale.

  
  


“I was seventeen when I realized why I let her keep doing that to me. _Fear_ . I was scared of her cane, the grits, those bible verses, the damn crows, but most of all? That _bitch_ was the one who terrified me the most.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “So I showed her that I was the one she should be scared of.”

“And now she’s…?”

Jonathan glanced at Edward’s face. His face was all stone, completely void of emotion. 

“Still buried under the floorboards where I left her.” He paused to consider. “Unless some vandal broke in and started pulling them up, looking for money that is.”

Edward hummed. “Good. She deserves as much.”

Jonathan nodded, a nervousness growing in his chest. “So-” he sounded too meek again, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “So..we’re still in the green? That wasn’t..” he trailed off. Too much baggage? Cause enough for him to want to leave?

Edward raised one shapely eyebrow at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worrying about scaring me off.”

“That’s-” Jonathan started to defend, but went quiet under Edward’s scrutinizing gaze. “-completely accurate.”

To his surprise Edward smiled, as if he’d made some adorably naive comment. “As precious as that is Jon-truly, I’m flattered- I must point out that your insecurity is completely unfounded. In fact, I’m glad that you’ve shared this part of yourself with me.” At his confused expression he elaborated further. “Now I know that you’ll be able to handle my past with ease. 

Edward cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that you’ve taken note of the..slight imperfections on my arms.” 

Jonathan frowned. “These scars-” he brushed his thumb over them, “I have noticed. But _imperfections_? You have none for me to find, Edward.”

Edward halted, looking touched and a bit shocked. “I..thank you. Really.” Jonathan mimicked Edward’s earlier actions, kissing one of the bigger marks encouragingly.

“My father, shall we say, often shifted the blame of his own problems onto me. The death of my mother in particular, who died due to complications during labor.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Jonathan said.

“It’s all right. I never really knew her, so it wasn’t as if I had a way to miss her. But my father did. If he wasn’t trying to forget that fact by drinking himself half to death, he was hiding behind his anger. Which he _also_ liked to take out on me, whether it be physically or verbally.”

Jonathan frowned, feeling a fiery hot rage brew a pit in his stomach. “Verbally?”

Edward nodded. “Cheat in school one time and you’re a, quote, ‘moronic little weasel’, end quote, for the rest of your life. Along with the more typical insults that don’t bear repeating.”

Jonathan hummed, continuing to trace the faded outlines of Edward’s scars. “The constant put-downs must have had quite the impact on a young mind such as yours. Did you try to prove him wrong in any way?”

“Constantly. But no matter how many perfect scores I brought home-”

“-he kept calling you a cheat.” A lot of Edward’s behavior was starting to make much more sense. The constant seeking of validation, the painfully narcissistic ego.

“Nobody ever treated you with the respect you deserve, so you sought to do so yourself.” Jonathan remarked.

“Exactly!” Edward exclaimed. “I _knew_ you would understand.”

“And how long was it before you left?” Jonathan asked, already suspecting the answer.

As he predicted Edward said, “When I was sixteen. I’d just gotten my license, so I stole all the money my father had left and drove to Gotham.”

Jonathan frowned again. “He still lives?” He wouldn’t be for long, if Jonathan had any say in the matter.

Edward shook his head. “Oh no. With the assistance of Poison Ivy-she owed me a favor- I was able to help him into the grave. After I was sure he understood just how wrong he was about me.”

“Good. He deserved it.” Jonathan echoed Edward’s words from earlier. He planted another kiss onto Edward’s arm, snuggling closer to the other man. Edward smiled contentedly and gave him a peck in return.

No further words were needed. They understood one another in full now, scars and all.

Those wouldn’t fade for either of them, but neither would the understanding that they now shared.

And that was all that really mattered.

They slept peacefully in each other’s arms that night.

\---

“You aren't easy to get a hold of, Gloria.”

She swore under her breath, stopping in her tracks. 

“I didn’t see _shit_ if that’s what you're asking.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” Just like all the stories and news articles Gloria had seen or heard, Batman seemed to materialize within the shadows before stepping out of them. More conscious to the eyes on her, she crossed one arm over her chest. It didn’t do much to conceal her exposed body, but kept it there all the same.

“This is the alley where they found Zoe’s body.” Batman rumbled.

Gloria scoffed. “Gee, you really are the world’s greatest detective aren’t you?” she spat.

The masked man showed no response to her critical words. “You’ve been leaving flowers by the dumpster almost every night. That’s what you were doing just now, weren’t you.”

Gloria narrowed her eyes. She had the bouquet clutched within her fist, the ones she’d left previously propped up against the side of the bin, out in plain view.

“What the hell is your point? She’s dead, and ain’t nothing anyone can do about that. It’s Axel Row, _nobody_ gives a damn about the people that go missing here.” Especially not those good-for-nothing cops who didn’t care to poke around the scene of the crime for more than half an hour. Gloria hated Viki Vale just about as much as the next gothamite, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn't tempted to sign that petition of hers.

“You could start by giving me a description of the two suspects.”

She barked out a humorless laugh. “And end up the next dead hoe in a dumpster? Fat chance.”

She made a move toward the mouth of the alley way, intending to head straight home and smoke until she fell asleep for the millionth time, but Batman was way ahead of her. 

A gasp tore from her mouth as he grabbed her by her bracelet covered wrist, whirling her around to face him. The bouquet slipped out of her grasp. Immediately her hands flew to brace herself. They found a place on Batman’s broad chest.

“Get your hands _off_ me, man.” she growled. Gloria could only pray that he didn’t spot the quickly building panic in her eyes. There had been far too many a man who’d gripped her in similar ways, and those encounters always ended with a dick down her throat or fists slamming into her body. Sometimes both, depending on the offender’s mood.

By some miracle that didn’t seem to be Batman’s plan. He released her almost immediately. His bat shaped mask covered most of his face so she saw nothing but his deep set scowl. She glared at him, rubbing her aching limb as she tried to decipher what this look could mean.

“She would have spoken up if it was you they pulled out of that dumpster.”

All the breath was sucked from her lungs. It felt just like the moment they cops told her Zoe had been killed- tears pricking her eyes, throat closing up, lip dangerously wobbling-

No. She had cried enough already, and sure as hell wasn’t going to do it again in front of some lunatic dressed like a flying rodent.

Angrily she wiped the hand that had been holding the flowers across her eyes.

Batman bent down in front of her. Before she could question what he was doing, he’d picked up the bouquet- now dripping with gross alley water- and had extended it as if it were an olive branch.

Gingerly, she took it.

“Fine. I’ll talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh Batman is getting info on our boys. They better watch out, he's comin' for their asses.


	10. Dark justice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I fought with this chapter. Writing this felt like trying to wrestle with a rabid crocodile, with nothing but my bare hands. Still not sure I'm loving how this came out. But, as the saying goes, 'It is what it is'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Ok, I've realized the previous idea for chapter eleven, 'The Trial' would be, like, way too short. Instead I'm just going to wrap things with what would have been chapter 12. Sorry if you wanted this to be longer; this is literally THE longest fic I've ever written and I'm more accustomed to writing one-shots, so I knew going into this that it wasn't going too be some million page epic saga. It's actually gotten way more love than I could have ever imagined (which I thank each and every one of you for, truly!).

Bruce decided that the Riddler was either _far_ more stupid than he had been lead to believe, or a man with such raging narcissism that he had refused to believe the police capable of deciphering his riddles. He was leaning more towards the latter. Crime scenes left with monikers signed usually pointed towards narcissistic behavior. If anything, he was thankful for the man’s over-inflated ego.

If not for that, he wouldn’t have left his last clue as his _home address_.

Raising one gloved fist, Bruce knocked on the door.

He heard a scoff from inside. 

“I’ll be there in a minute dear!” Dear? Was he referring to one of the hired gun-women? That would give further explanation to their state of dress.

Two minutes went by. Silence.

He knocked again, harsher this time. If he got no response he’d start considering kicking down the door. Jim wouldn’t be happy but it would speed things up a bit.

Footsteps moved towards the door. Bruce could just make out the bottoms of expensive looking loafers in the slit between the door and the floor. 

Riddler opened the door. “You didn’t have to idle out in the hall, I gave you a key for a re-” He stopped, perplexed by the stranger.

There was a tense silence. Green eyes bore into the white slits of Bruce’s mask where his brown ones usually were.

“Edward Nygma I presume? Your last name and first initial create the word ‘enigma’ when put together. Not the most clever of aliases but I’ll give you points for originality.”

The other man laughed, though it lacked humor. “..Is this some sort of joke?” Riddler said. He’d seem to have shaken his bewilderment, indignant outrage taking its place.

“Twenty-six people are dead because of you and the Scarecrow. Does that _sound_ like a laughing matter to you?”

To Riddler’s credit his face showed little reaction to this accusation. 

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He went to close the door.

Bruce’s thick rubber boot shot out to block it. Riddler glared, eyebrow’s furrowing in a ‘how _dare_ you?’ manner.

“So you’re telling me that the Riddler left a clue pointing _directly_ to this apartment, which you are standing in right now, and that you have no connection to him at all? Don’t insult my intelligence. You either _are_ him or you work for him. Continuing to deny that is only going to make things harder for you, so you may as well fess up now.” Bruce’s fists clenched his sides. _Twenty-six_ people. Twenty-six people were six feet under because of this man and his associates. Twenty-six families were in mourning. 

Four of the victim’s loved ones were orphans now. 

Bruce knew what that felt like all too well. He was surprised he hadn’t beaten this man bloody by now.

Teeth gritted Riddler growled, “Look, I don’t know who the _hell_ you are or who you work for-”

“I’m _Batman_ , and I work for no one. Only justice.”

Riddler was, once again, stupefied into silence. If Bruce were a more light-hearted man he might have found his widened eyes and scrunched features to be comical. 

Bruce was the farthest thing from light-hearted, so they only helped to deepen his scowl.

And then Riddler promptly burst into laughter. 

It was so sudden that it bent him nearly in half, manicured hands grasping at the door handle to steady himself.

The Dark Knight cringed at the spittle that flew onto his mask. Became increasingly disgusted at the tears making their way down the hysterical man’s face.

Fists clenched and un-clenched at his sides in a steady rhythm. 

_Do not attack unless provoked. Do not attack unless provoked,_ he chanted this mantra to himself internally, hoping it might take a chip out of his increasing rage. 

A valiant effort on his end, but a failed one nonetheless.

“Am I _seriously_ supposed to be intimidated by some-some _moron_ in a _bat_ costume?” Riddler managed to say, in between fits of laughter. “What are you, some sort of eccentric private investigator?”

Clenching his jaw, repeating his internal mantra, Bruce responded, “No. I don’t work for any-”

He was met with more laughter.

It was abruptly cut off when Bruce punched him dead in the face. 

He cursed himself as the other man cried out, dropping to the floor.

_May as well have flushed that mantra right down the john_ , he thought bitterly, pulling the bat-cuffs from his utility belt.

He would have plenty of time to reflect on that later; his main priority was getting Nygma into the bat-mobile and down to the station for questioning.

Then it was off to find the more deadly threat. The man behind that accursed drug.

Scarecrow.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


_“You’ve reached Edward Nygma’s voicemail! I’m either too busy actually living my life to pick up the phone right now, or actively avoiding your call. I trust you can figure out which one fits you. If reason number one resonates the most, leave a message at the tone.”_

Jonathan hung up. Clenched the phone so tight within his hand he was surprised it didn’t break.

Every day for the past two weeks, without fail, he had listened to that message at least three times a day.

Once in the morning as he desperately tried to ignore how vastly empty his bed felt. A few more times throughout the day as he worked, toiling away at his desk, feverishly strengthening his toxin until his hands screamed for him to stop and he could write no longer. Then he’d play it one final time before he slept, cradling the cellphone close to his chest, fearing it might disappear when he closed his eyes.

He leaned his thin body over the guard rail. Seemed a sufficient enough height. He gave the phone a final look. 

Edward had nagged him about getting a newer model. 

“You are the _only_ person I know with a flip-phone that isn’t in a nursing home,” he’d scoffed. That memory would have made him a laugh, once upon a time.

Now it only brought about a dull throb of anger within his chest. Anger which had, fleetingly, been directed at his lover.

How could he have been so damned _arrogant_ ? Jonathan understood that Edward wanted to toy with his foes, make them feel foolish to boost his ever-growing ego, but leaving his _home address_ as a clue? That was just plain fucking stupid.

Jonathan had spent the first few days in solitude voicing poisonous thoughts such as those, nearly wearing a hole in his living room floor with his frantic pacing.

He’d ranted and raved, screamed and shouted, wanting nothing more than to throttle the man whose very name he’d been cursing. How _dare_ he strut into his life like this, give him access to a world of wonder that he'd previously denied, only to abandon him within it.

Left to wander the ruins of their shared paradise alone, Jonathan had begun to feel his rage wane. Sorrow devoured it like a wake of starving vultures, leaving him woefully cold. Those days he had spent in the tortuous comfort of his bed. He found that if he constructed his blanket into a shape that vaguely resembled a human he almost felt better. A phantom of his partner to sleep next to.

It was coddling this fabric pretender when he realized something that he should have known a very long time ago.

These feelings, once nameless, finally revealed their identity to him.

_Love._

Jonathan loved Edward.

The world seemed to halt on its axis.

Such a simple phrase; “I love you.” Jonathan couldn’t remember ever thinking it before. He was certainly thinking it now. Kicking himself for not saying it before.

“I love you,” he murmured to blanket-Edward. His shaky confession was met with silence.

His toxin had taken up the rest of his time. 

Which brought us to where he stood now. The balcony of Henry Pigeon’s home.

Finally he relinquished his grip on the cell-phone. Watched calmly as it plummeted to the wet pavement below. Thunder boomed above him, illuminating the sky with bolts of lightning. 

“Damn! The lights!” Henry’s voice exclaimed from inside. Jonathan turned to it, hand drifting to the vials of toxin in his costume’s pouch.

“Renlon! See to it, will you?” Henry continued, unaware of his presence. Jonathan used this opportunity to slip inside. 

“Afraid of the dark, professor? Or what might be lurking within it?”

Henry gasped, whirling to face him. It must have been quite a sight- Jonathan in full scarecrow garb, wielding a scythe, perched on the window’s lip. 

“You-you’re the..the..” Henry stammered. His wrinkled hands clenched and un-clenched in front of him. His body was so overcome with terror and shock that the man could do no more than gape at the monster before him.

How quaint.

Gracefully, Jonathan dropped to the floor. Henry’s bugged eyes followed this movement. 

“Are you going to finish? Or just stand there shaking like a sick kitten?” He sneered. Shoes squelching on the floor, he made slow circles around his prey. 

Henry licked his lips, throwing quick glances around the room. That would be the flight instinct kicking in. Scouring for some sort of exit. They both knew this endeavor was fruitless. Henry was a slow, arthritis ridden, portly old man. Jonathan wasn’t exactly young but he was younger, possessed long arthritis free legs, and much more agile. Not to mention he was the only one armed between the two.

“What is it you want from me?” Henry rasped. 

Jonathan paused. Let the tense silence between them thicken. Then, with a resounding _‘clang!’_ he pivoted his scythe so that the tip of it’s blade touched the floor. Henry cringed as Jonathan continued his path, weapon screeching along behind him.

Once he stood directly behind his old friend he stopped. The faint light from the open window exposed the older man’s shivering silhouette.

“Nothing at all.” Jonathan decided he may as well be truthful- Henry wasn’t going to be alive for much longer anyhow. Worst he could do was come back to haunt him, assuming there was an afterlife.

Strange. Mere months ago he would have despaired at the thought of this man’s dying. Now look at him; toxin filled needle poised at his neck, ready to deliver the final blow himself.

What an odd life he lived.

Henry cried out as the syringe sunk into his flesh, pumping his veins full of poison. He clamped a hand onto the wound.

“There was a time when I considered you my only friend, you know.”

The other didn’t respond. Only sunk to the floor, gasping as panic took his body hostage.

“Much has changed since then,” Jonathan decided to continue on, “as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. I’ve devoted myself to fear, my true life’s work. Created the very toxin that runs through your veins. Killed. Found love.”

Henry writhed, letting out short moans and groans. Jonathan stepped over him, then crouched down, so that he was face to face with his victim.

“I was wrong to consider what we had friendship. I know that now. I’ve learned a great deal in this portion of my life, thanks to him..” He trailed off, thoughts momentarily lapsing back to Edward. He shook his head to clear them.

“Arguably you were worse than the others. At least they were upfront with their disdain of me. You pitied me, took me under your wing. Pretended to care so that you could boost your reputation. Because that’s all that _really_ matters isn’t it? That people recognize you for the good, caring person you are?” He spat.

More terrified groans and pants, albeit a little quieter now. His eyes were beginning to glaze over. 

Jonathan’s lips curled back in disgust. He’d barely lasted five minutes. _Pathetic._

“My point is, you represent what little is left of the old me. A miserable college professor, wasting his life slaving over idiot students that never appreciated him. Killing you will cement my divorce from that path. Rebirth me as what I’ve been denying I was for my entire life.”

He leaned in close, mask brushing the deceased man’s nose.

_“Scarecrow.”_

“If that isn’t a confession, I don’t know what is.” Jonathan lifted his head at the sound. He squinted. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. 

The man in the window almost looked like a bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I referenced the comic Batman Year One; Scarecrow #1 in this, though I did tweak it to fit this story. I seriously recommend giving that a read! One of my favorite Batman comics.


	11. Whispered promises of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it- final chapter. Bring some tissues out!

Arkham Asylum loomed in the distance, a twisted cathedral for those who worshipped the false idol that was madness.

Jonathan, who was no disciple of this idol, glowered at it through the tinted window of the car’s backseat.

Or, what was it the self-proclaimed Batman had called it? The _‘bat-mobile’_ . He scoffed. Supposed it meant the things around his wrists were _‘bat-cuffs’_ and the mark on his face was a _‘bat-bruise’_ from being _‘bat-punched’_ in the face.

Were he not in such a miserable mood, he might have laughed at this absurdity.

Instead it was another stab-wound to his pride, which was already bleeding quite profusely. Bested by a masked brute with the naming skillset of a _preschooler_. Look at him, with his deep-set scowl, clunky combat boots, extravagant cape draped scrunched into the driver’s seat. He supposed one might find this gothic exterior frightening in the right context. That is, if one happened to be a bottom-tier lowlife who made a living mugging grandmothers and holding up gas-stations for pocket change.

What a shame, that his needle was unable to bury itself into Batman’s neck. _That_ would’ve shown this moron a thing or two about _real_ fear. 

He sighed in defeat through his nose. This was starting to sound suspiciously Edward-like.

That earned a dry chuckle. What would Edward’s reaction be, seeing his lover carted into the same asylum as him not even a month behind? Amusement? Sorrow? Or maybe anger? 

Jonathan thought more on it and grimaced. _Definitely_ anger.

He should probably start thinking of ways to defend his actions before they got there-

The car jerked to halt. Jonathan cursed as he was slammed into his seatbelt. 

_‘Arkham Asylum, Hospital for the Criminally Insane’_ , gleamed in chipped gold lettering above the entrance. He sneered. How pretentious.

Batman switched off the engine, and opened the car door. There was a brief interlude of rainfall from outside. Silence after the door was closed again. 

Jonathan’s door was yanked open, the car rocking a bit from the force. Batman glowered at him, arms crossed, white-filmed eyes narrowed to slits.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow from within his mask. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by this?”

Batman’s frown was, surprisingly, able to go even deeper. Rough hands undid his seatbelt. He didn’t make an attempt to fight the larger man off, even as he was picked up by his scrawny waist and slung over one of his shoulders like a sack of straw. Batman paused at the trunk, checking to ensure that it was still locked.

The Scarecrow stared at it forlornly. His scythe and his toxin were both trapped inside, to be handed off to Gotham’s police department. Another stab to his pride. All his research would be seized from his apartment by now, probably shoved to the back of some evidence locker and forgotten-

Wait. Forgotten. He’d forgotten something hadn’t he?

Jonathan furrowed his brows a bit, gazing thoughtfully in front of him. Batman’s boots left large imprints in their wake, their muddy walls filling with polluted rainwater. _‘Bat-prints’_ is probably what their maker would call them, he thought with a snort. Then it hit him. Bat-prints. _Paw_ -prints.

_Lenore!_

Jerking involuntarily, he gasped, causing the other to tighten his steeled grip on him.

“Give it up, Crane. You’re going behind bars and nowhere else.”

“My _cat-_ what in the hell are they gonna do to my cat?”

“Your what?”

“Did I fucking _stutter_ ? I just asked what in the hell is going to happen to my cat while I’m in here,” he snapped. The wild mare that was fear bucked under him, threatening to toss him from it’s saddle. Would she be sent to an animal shelter? A foster home? Put up for adoption? They wouldn’t put her down would they? The police had better not even consider that last option for their own sakes. There would be hell to pay if Jonathan found out that the GCPD had so much _whispered_ that thought.

Whether Batman could sense his growing anxieties was unknown .Jonathan was not able to see what little face the other had on display, and the armored suit was a barrier to any muscle reactions he might have felt underneath him. Pity. 

After an infuriatingly long pause, Batman replied, “I’ll have to ask the commissioner to be completely sure, but it will most likely be held in a municipal shelter.”

This revelation cut into Jonathan’s injured pride like a red-hot fire-poker.

“Municipal shelter-? My cat is not some damn stray. She’s a _sphynx_ , purebred. I am the master of fear dammit you think I’m just going to sit back and let the goddamn GCPD steal from _me_ without consequence-”

“What’s her name?” Batman interrupted. 

“What’s that got to do with the tea an’ china?” Jonathan barked, feeling his accent sneak it’s way into his voice. 

“I won’t be able to find out what they’re doing with her unless I know which cat I’m looking for.”

Oh.

Jonathan cleared his throat, feeling a tinge of embarrassment at his overreaction. Awkwardly he mumbled, “Lenore.” Too quiet, he wouldn’t be heard over the rain. Clearing his throat a second time he tried again. “Lenore is her name.”

“I’ll make sure you are updated on Lenore’s well-being, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan dipped his head. “That is appreciated.”

Thankfully, the vigilante seemed to disdain idle conversation just as much as he, for the rest of their trek to the building was made in silence. Quite a distance from the building to the front gate. To deter the inmates from escaping, Jonathan theorised. 

Jonathan was soaked to his soul by the time they made it inside. He felt the burlap of his costume squelch between the fingers of the guards he was handed to.

“We got this from here Batman,” the one to his left said. “You have a good rest of your night now!”

“And drive safe. It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there!” The one to his right advised.

Batman said nothing, but gave them a nod.

Just as he turned to leave, Jonathan lurched forward, and grabbed him by an armor clad forearm.

“Hey what the-”

“Let him go ya fuckin’ freak!”

Jonathan ignored the guard’s shouts, fixing the man in his grip with a cold blue-eyed gaze. 

“I’ll be holding you to that promise, bat.”

Batman only looked at him calmly, bobbing his head once.

“Alright that’s enough outta you Scarecrow.” The guard on the right sneered, jerking him away. Jonathan didn’t resist, allowing his grip to slide loose.

As he was dragged into the depths of this accursed alter, bat-shaped prophet leaving him to pray, he could only smile.

\---

“New cellmate Nygma. Try not to drive this one to suicide!” Jonathan barely had time to process the words uttered by the guard’s mouth before he collided with the floor.

The door slammed behind him before he had a chance to recover, the jangling of keys and ‘click’ of tumblers letting him know that it was locked.

Spindly hands pushed his thin body up and off the ground. His joints crackled and popped as he rose to his full height.

Then he locked eyes with Edward, regarding him with a stony expression from his cot, and felt smaller than a newborn mouse.

The asylum seemed to have treated Edward as poorly as it had been him so far; his hair, which he took so much pride in gelling and grooming until it was just right, was greased and stuck to his forehead. Dark sleepless rings hung from the emeralds that were his eyes. Auburn stubble dusted his cheeks and chin, the beginnings of a beard that Edward surely despised. 

He had been defeated, stripped of the confidence and self-worth that had once oozed from his every orifice.

Jonathan felt a deep flare of rage and hated this place all the more for it.

He wanted to hug him, squeeze him tight and never let go, feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat next to his own, taste the sweet of him on his lips.

Instead he ran an unsteady hand through his untidy locks. His mask, which he had been stripped of, along with the rest of his costume, had not shielded it from the weather. 

“You look well,” he said, unsure of the other’s mood. Edward was being eerily quiet. Another piece of him taken by the asylum.

Edward puffed out air that may have been intended as a scoff or an effortless attempt at laughter. “Half a month I’m gone and the first thing you greet me with is a lie. How romantic,” his voice, too, was an echo of it’s previous self. It sounded dry and thin. A vulnerable autumn leaf, brittle and trembling with the wind.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” 

This time Jonathan was sure it was a scoff. “You must have very poor eyesight then, my dear.”

“I suppose you do as well, to find any appeal to this scarred vessel.”

Edward’s eyes softened. “Oh, _Jon_..” he sighed, rising from the bed. 

Jonathan sensed where this was going and used his legs to help close the distance between them.

Edward’s grip around his waist was tight, head buried into the orange fabric of Jonathan’s prison jumpsuit. Manicured hands clutched the back of it, as if afraid he might disappear beneath him.

Jonathan returned with his own fierce embrace. His long arms wrapped around the smaller man, anchoring him to his chest. The way they slotted together, two halves of a whole, the yin to the other’s yang, was so perfect it was almost criminal.

He felt Edward shudder beneath him. “I can’t _believe_ you got yourself caught.” A sniffle in between. “How could you be _stupid_ enough to get yourself thrown in jail?”

Jonathan could have sworn he felt his heart break. Anger he could have handled. But this? This sadness, this sorrow, these tears- it was almost too much to bear.

Taking a deep breath of his own, he pressed desperate kisses into his lover’s hair, murmuring his apologies in between. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“Such an idiot..!” Edward cried, a sob escaping him.

“I know. I’m an idiot.” He took a deep breath, casting his gaze upwards to fend off the tears. 

Jonathan continued his apologies and kisses until Edward’s sobs died down.

With a final sniffle Edward shifted his head, so that he was gazing up at Jonathan with red eyes and wet cheeks.

“You want to know what the worst part of this is? I can’t even bring myself to be mad at you anymore,” he broke off to chuckle, “I’m too happy to see you again.”

Jonathan felt himself smile in earnest for the first time in a long time. “As am I.” He pecked Edward’s forehead. The younger man hummed in content.

He laid his head back down onto Jonathan’s chest, so his ear was above his heart. “I’ve missed this. Your heartbeat. Your embrace. Your kiss. Your scent, even.”

“I have a scent?” Jonathan asked, bemused. 

“Mmhmm. Like cigarettes and old books.”

“How flattering,” he drawled.

“Very much so.”

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation. The two spent it continuing the hug, touch starved and basking in the presence of the other. When they tired of standing they laid onto Edward’s cot, Jonathan acting as a body pillow for Edward to cling to.

Edward, per the norm, was the one to break the silence.

“I suppose I’ll have to re-adjust my escape plans. Originally I only had one person to account for,” he playfully poked Jonathan on the nose.

Giving his partner an amused look he replied, “Sorry. I’ll be sure to give you a heads up next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Edward corrected, tone sharp. He shifted to rest his head in the palms of his hands, elbows digging painfully into Jonathan’s ribs. “The only reason you and I were discovered was that damned Batman. He cheated my riddle somehow I just _know_ it.” He paused, shaking his head angrily before continuing. “He’s going to pay for that, I’ll make sure of it. His dying thoughts will be filled with _rue_ for the day he tried to outsmart Edward Nygma.”

“And that of the true fear that I plan to show him.” Jonathan added. 

Edward nodded. “Agreed.” Then he looked puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Did he give you that nasty bruise?”

“Indeed. Broke my glasses too.” 

Edward frowned, pressing a delicate kiss to the injury. “Poor thing. Eddie’s here to kiss it better, don’t you worry.” Another kiss to the bruise. Edward leaned in for a third, only to be intercepted by Jonathan’s lips. He smirked, chuckling against the older man’s lips. 

“Just can’t keep yourself off me, can you?” 

Before he could think, Jonathan blurted. “Of course not- I _love_ you.”

Edward’s smirk disappeared as he stared, completely floored, down at him.

Jonathan’s heart beat a panicked tattoo against his rib-cage. Why? _Why_ had he said that? Everything was ruined, all because he couldn’t keep his damned mouth shut-

Edward smashed his lips so hard against Jonathan’s that he was surprised their teeth didn’t break. 

“I love you too,” Edward whispered, breathlessly, as he pulled away.

Tangled in the embrace of his lover, confession swelling his heart with warmth and life, Jonathan made two promises within the night’s intimate air. 

The first was to rain down fearful vengeance against the Batman for causing them to suffer so; to peel back the layers of the mind beneath the cowl until true fear shone it’s awful truth into it.

The second was to never, ever, be apart from Edward for that long again.

Unbeknownst to him Edward had done the same.

  
  
  


**~ Fin~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has read this, left comments and kudos:
> 
> Thank you. So, so, so much. From the bottom of my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be one of my first multi-chapter things, so bear with me y'all! I hope you enjoy it.


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